A king for a throne

Ned's courser snorted and shook his head as they rode into the southern camp. It had been a moonless night, but with summer still high morning had come early.

The Gods Eye was a large grey-blue hole near a mile away in the early morning, all the trees that might have let armies or even just a small strike force hide from view in that direction cut down long ago, leaving only those stumps that had not already been repurposed in some way.

The camp was made up of those men from the Vale Jon Arryn had left behind when he had marched east to support Robert and at the moment, though more than two hours had already passed, there was still an undercurrent of chaos and confusion in the lines of tents and gathered men.

Squires with frustration written plainly across their features walked all around, searching for one thing or another without any coordination between them, while other men guarded the camp's perimeter with heavy frowns, and yet others were in the process of readying weapons and armour that had not already been prepared for battle.

All in all, the camp held more than two thousand fighting men, in large part made up of Corbray and Belmore forces joined by a few additional detachments from the Northern Vale. Everyone else had followed Jon Arryn west.

Passing one of the stables, small on account of the low number of horses — the mountainous northern Vale preferred heavy infantry to cavalry — he still noted the half a dozen horses that remained. Two men were currently working on a small wound marking a horse's side.

Ned rode for the tents under the silver bells on purple and the black ravens carrying red hearts on a field of white, so that he might get an account of everything that had occurred in the night and early morning.

If his gut feeling was right, this siege would not be a siege for much longer.

It did not take long to reach the rough centre of the camp, where the two largest tents sat next to each other despite the differing heraldry on shields, flags, and even the tent cloth. A straight path led between the orderly lines to the south, a gap in the wooden spikes driven into the ground making an easy entrance.

Standing in his stirrups, Ned looked towards that exit and the group of riders currently passing the fortifications on their way inside. Valemen, just back from scouting most like, judging by the empty raven cage he saw attached to one of the saddles. That was how scouts on quick deployments sent back messages when time was precious.

Ned turned to one of his companions. "Martyn, find out what the latest word from any scouts and outriders is. I would rather we be aware of any developments immediately."

"At once."

As Martyn Cassel rode off, Ned dismounted, handing the reins to one of the young boys who had come forward. The Corbray men standing guard at the tent entrance inclined their heads with a "Lord Stark" before one of them opened the tent flap and stuck his head inside to announce his arrival.

A quick exchange of inaudible words and the cloth was held open for him, granting him entrance into Lord Corbray's accommodations while his remaining companions waited outside.

The inside of the large tent was as comfortable as was achievable considering the circumstances. Meaning it was one storm away from losing much of its pleasantness, no matter all the efforts to the contrary.

A simple bed stood along the back side, still disorderly from recent use, and a nearby stand was intended to hold a suit of armour, though only the helmet and vambraces currently found their place there.

A table in the centre of the tent held a simple map of the surrounding area, their siege camps and the areas patrolled by scouting parties marked with arrows and lines.

Lord Corbray was sat in a chair right next to the table, his right hand bandaged heavily and with a Maester inspecting a recent cut trailing from his nose all the way to his ear. Lady Forlorn, House Corbray's storied Valyrian steel sword, was leaning against the table just within reach.

His two oldest sons, Lyonel, his heir whose forearm was bandaged, and the younger Lyn, who had been squire to Marq Grafton, waited nearby while Lord Benedar Belmore sat and ate breakfast, seemingly intent on only adding to his already considerable girth and entirely unbothered by the situation.

"My Lords," Ned greeted simply. "I rode as soon as word reached me."

"Lord Stark," Lord Belmore answered, nodding his head as he peeled an egg. "It is good you are here now. These are grave happenings indeed and decisions must needs be made on how we are to proceed."

"I would hear what exactly occurred first," he said, aware that he was the man in charge of making those same decisions. This was his command, his siege, even if the men in this camp came from the Vale. "The message I received lacked many crucial details."

"A matter of haste and prudence," Lord Corbray said, glaring slightly at the Maester diligently working on his cheek. He suffered the attention and care a moment longer before waving the grey-robed man off when offered needle and thread and then even more bandages. "If it scars ugly, it scars ugly. It'll see I won't make another mistake like this."

Bowing, the Maester folded up his pack of supplies and left to see to any other injuries and ailments that a barber surgeon or herb woman had not already handled.

Lord Corbray faced Ned, and he put an additional effort into not starring at the red wound marring one cheek. "Lord Belmore speaks truthfully. How they managed it still escapes me, but they infiltrated our camp under the cover of night and removed all sentries on duty. While we slept, blinded and deafened, Lord Whent led his forces right out of the Harrenhal."

"It was luck alone that had one of my knights taking a piss and noticing the missing torches before taking action, otherwise we might not have known for weeks. But it was still too late by then. Their rearguard was the only thing in sight, mounted men all, and they had seen to it that we could not mount a strike quick enough to matter."

"They did not assault the camp? Beyond dealing with the sentries and watchers?" Ned could not see why. Surprise and the cover of night would have only made the advantage in numbers weigh harder. Their estimates had put the forces in Harrenhal at somewhere around three thousand, perhaps a few hundred more or less.

"No, they simply snuck past, though not without assurance that we could not react. Drums, bells, warhorns, even whistles, it was either destroyed or hidden, all of it, and we're still searching for some of the banners. When I finally managed to rally some men and gave chase, they held us off with no more than half the rear, though it was one man's effort more than anything else."

Ned could hear some grudging respect in Lord Corbray's voice, though it clearly warred with the man's pride as a warrior. Before he could ask who the man he meant was, others chimed in.

Lyn Corbray, prideful and petulant and the youngest in the tent, crossed his arms. "If I had met him, things might have been different."

Lyonel, the older brother and heir, glared at his sibling, a sharp retort on his lips, but before he could voice it their father spoke instead. "Quiet Lyn. Marq taught you well, I won't deny it, but that arrogant outlook will be your end eventually. That man fights vicious as a shadowcat and he is twice as quick. I might be mourning my son instead of a cut to the face and a broken hand if you got your way."

"Surely not, my lord," Lord Belmore interjected good-naturedly as he happily munched on a fatty sausage and Lyn scowled deeply. "Young Lyn is a capable lad, and you sit here with us now, alive and well, if marked slightly by the experience. You survived this Dread, or whatever name they gave him."

The name made Ned prick up his ears in curiosity. Tales of Blackwater Bay had reached his ears as well, from Jon Arryn himself and from some of the Vale soldiers spreading gossip. Tall tales, but even those could carry a kernel of truth inside them, even if only a bard's truth.

The tourney of Harrenhal had been a window into the man, this Naruto from across the Narrow Sea, but every little bit he learned on top forced him to adjust his lens slightly to get a more accurate estimation of the truth.

Lord Corbray looked at the large man and then back at his younger son before grimacing heavily. "Aye, I sit here now. I stayed alive, but as much as it galls me to admit it that was no achievement of mine. He let me live and left instead of striking me down, though only he and the gods know why."

"We might wonder at any exact motivations for weeks yet, my lords," Ned said, bringing them back from the topic they had drifted to. "The siege and the pursuit, let us focus on those matters for now." He stepped up to the map. "How many of your men did you lose?"

"A dozen dead or dying and three times that injured in some way. I sent out what riders remained in pursuit under Ser Lucas of Smallbay and all our outriders are scouting the area."

"Good. I don't think we can catch up to join battle properly, even with only our cavalry alone it would be hours until we could gather all the men and ride out, but I would have us know all we can. We will take Harrenhal instead."

Ned looked at the map and imagined the likely path of the retreating army. The Whent lands were vast, reaching all the way to the border of the Crownlands, where Rhaegar had positioned forces to threaten the siege while also defending the way south.

With wagons and men on foot, crossing all that distance would take days of marching, but Lord Whent and his men knew those lands, certainly better than any of Ned's own men did. Calling for a pursuit in strength would only open them up for an ambush, especially without being assured of the situation behind the cursed, dark walls of the castle to their north.

From numbers alone, attempting to storm the walls might have been possible with the full strength of the North and Vale and the remaining Riverlanders gathered together. Costly but possible, had the castle in question not been Harrenhal.

Even Winterfell's near insurmountable defences paled next to the monstrous curtain walls bristling with scorpions. An assault by ground was an impossibility against any even slightly determined defenders, but now those same defenders had left.

Even if some remained, there came a point that the sheer size of Harrenhal made it impossible to defend. The castle was simply too large to cover every angle of attack with even a hundred men.

They spent near an hour figuring when and where and how many men would be necessary to maintain a perimeter at the line of camps and fortifications, should there be an attempt at a rout.

His own forces would play the most important role, regardless of the fact that they made up the largest parts of this joint siege. He might have spent years in Vale, but he had grown up behind Winterfell's towering walls.

Starks knew well just what troubles an attacker faced when attempting an assault on walls this high, just as they knew what few ways still remained to assail them successfully. They had learned what to expect and how to prevent it from working thousands of years ago, but Harrenhal was new in comparison, with none of that accumulated experience, even if the walls were a bit higher.

This he was confident in: if defenders remained to hold to cursed walls, they would not be prepared for everything. And there would not be enough to hold every wall and tower.

But that was for later, when they would actually take the castle. There were other things to take care of beforehand.

First, Ned wanted a look at the path Lord Whent and his men had taken to escape.

Crouched down among earth trampled by hundreds and hundreds of feet and hooves and wheels, he tried to put numbers to everything he was seeing. Lord Whent had left, most likely meaning that a message had somehow gotten through. A raven, or something else. Frustrating, but unavoidable.

Yet leaving as he had, under cover of night and without chancing even an ambush on besieging troops, suggested that it had been the numbers trapped at Harrenhal which Rhaegar wanted; most likely, to recoup some of the losses Robert, Jon, and the Blackfish had inflicted on Lord Connington's failed march.

If gaining those numbers weighed heavier than the loss of Harrenhal as a strategic location to gather troops and control surrounding lands, then most if not all of the men had left with Lord Whent and his commanders.

Which fit nicely with what he was seeing here, trying to read numbers and troops from marked mud.

Standing, Ned swept his gaze over the flat surroundings. The camp behind him and the Gods Eye in front, Harrenhal to one side and the distant treeline on the other, where fortifications were nothing but a ditch. Even from here he could see the strong planks that had been used to allow wagons to cross. Building a proper bridge would have taken time and produced noise that could not be ignored at night.

"How many, do you think?" he asked of his companions, inviting any insights. Four eyes saw better than two, and that was even truer with dozens.

Lord William Dustin, his red stallion waiting close by, looked down at the field of tracks. "It might have been all of them, judging by what little can be seen from this."

Ned nodded in agreement and allowed another moment for any of the others to speak. "Very likely it was, but I would not risk anything with those monstrous walls against us. A hundred defenders will make no matter but a thousand would make an assault folly."

Thump

Like a flash of lightning, an arrow was suddenly buried in the ground less than two feet away.

Instinct brought his hand to his sword and the blade was already half-way out of his scabbard when cries of "Arrows!" and "Enemy archers!" rose up around him, joining his own cry for "Shields!"

His head was on a swivel as he turned this way and that in an attempt to find whoever was responsible, ducking slightly down so he could not be seen as easily among the group surrounding him.

But no other impacts sounded anywhere around them. No dull thunks as arrows buried into wood, no cries of pain and the small pop of mail rings exploding around the iron tips as they found a target, and no loud bang produced when an arrow found and marked solid plate. Nothing.

Slowly, as the seconds ticked by without any other projectiles raining down or war cries sounding a charge, Ned and his men relaxed slightly.

'A stray arrow from nearby?' he thought for a moment, before dismissing the idea just as quickly. There was no possible scenario he could imagine to make that feasible here and now. Harrenhal was too far away, well outside of the range of even siege equipment, and the men that might be practising in the camp were not so poorly trained that something like this could happen.

Looking at the men around him, he saw no answer forthcoming either, their gazes either still scanning the surroundings or fixed in the sky, should another projectile appear as this first one had.

Howland Reed had reached for his three-pronged frog spear and his gaze jumped around quick as a dragonfly, Theo Wull closed the circle of men around him, and Ethan Glover hovered at Ned's shoulder, sword bared as he kept a careful eye.

"Over there, among the trees," the small crannogman said, pointing into the distance outside of the camp. And his eyes were sharp no matter his size, for right where he said, directly south, an unnatural spot of stark yellow colour stood out against the surrounding browns and greens.

The spot was a man in truth, standing some two hundred yards away, the bright hair and torso making him so obvious against the treeline that Ned wondered how he had not been seen immediately.

Once, it seemed, assured that he had been seen, the blonde man raised the hand not holding his dark bow and gave a short salute. Then he turned and vanished into the trees without looking back.

Ned did not know what to think about that, but for whatever reason it did not feel like the man had intended to hit anything with his arrow. Still, there were questions to be answered.

"William, Ethan, take some men and give chase. But bring him back alive, if at all possible. I would have words with the man."

"At once, my Lord." With those words, the young Glover hurried for the horses, Lord Dustin with him and quickly selecting half a dozen men to accompany them. Ned had no illusions about their chances of success. If the man felt safe remaining this close while riders swarmed the surroundings for any trace then he would likely escape just as easily. And if it was only arrogance… well Ethan and William could handle themselves.

He watched them as they took to horse and rode off, his sword returned to its scabbard with the danger seeming to have passed. When Ned turned his eyes back to the men still with him, he found Howland Reed kneeling next to the arrow, green eyes focused on a curious addition to the projectile he had not noticed before.

"What is it?"

The crannogman looked up at him for a moment, before moving to untie the cord holding the parchment tight to the shaft and pulling it off the wood. "I believe it's a message. Most likely for you, my lord."

Accepting the furled-up message, he revealed the words written on the innermost of the pieces of paper.

Eddard Stark

I hope this message reaches you well and that you can excuse the manner of its delivery.

Though we currently stand on different sides in this rebellion, I believe you are aware that I have acted as an ally to you and yours before. Having reminded you of that, I hope you believe these words and that I bring them to you in good faith.

The King has your sister Lyanna, hidden away somewhere. He admitted as much to me, though I can only guess at his intentions in all this, or what part exactly your sister played.

I do not yet know where she is, but I intend to find her.

Naruto Uzumaki

Next to the name, a whirlpool of black ink spiralled. Placed as another might do with their family sigil.

Fingers clenched the thin parchment tightly, creasing carefully inked words. Ned had known Lyanna had to be out there somewhere, but after more than half a year without word… He had not given up hope, not fully, but a part of him had wanted to, with that answer so much easier to stomach than what the reality of her situation might be, at least until he was forced to face it.

This changed things, if only slightly.

So long as Rhaegar refused to offer any terms, he would continue to fight. The Iron Throne had begun this whole disaster, even if it had been a different king sitting on it.

But if Rhaegar truly had his sister, and Ned was inclined to believe those words, blindly trusting the new king to be a better man than his father had been, would be foolishness.

Below the short message, was another letter, longer and more formal than the first one had been. The top of the parchment was marked with the Sun and Spear if House Martell of Dorne. The family of Queen Elia.

"If Tywin Lannister truly means to join the Iron Throne, then we face our equal in numbers once more," Jon Arryn addressed the hall filled with lords and valued knights once quiet had returned, calmly laying out facts. "Mace Tyrell's main strength is further south, besieging Storm's End and controlling the keeps and lands surrounding it, but if those men were to join as well, we would be outnumbered near three times over."

Reflexively, Ned tallied up men and numbers, putting together a picture from the information available to them from prisoners, outriders, and simple logic. The Crown's forces were largely depleted after the victories at Maidenpool and Stoney Sept, though Robert's forces had been diminished as well, after the loss at Ashford and the fighting against Jon Connington's force.

Not preferable, his father and Jon Arryn both had taught him that superiority in numbers was the easiest way to an advantage, but unavoidable now.

Hoster Tully might raise some remaining levies, the Riverlands were often divided against each other, but they were near as fertile as the Reach, yet those most capable in war were already with them, with the exception of House Frey stubbornly locked in the Twins. Peasants given spears and shields or handed a crossbow might serve in holding walls, but without training they would crumble at the first hint of a charge on an open field. The only thing that would accomplish was boost the morale of the opposing side.

Reinforcements from the North or Vale would take months to arrive, and the Stormlands were beset by Mace Tyrell's army and even less of an option. No, they had what they had. Now came the time to make sure it was enough.

"Not without warning," the Blackfish added drily, for once not out to lead his outriders. They had gathered at Riverrun, first for Jon Arryn's wedding and then for this final moment to make plans together. "That many men will take a moon to even reach the capital, and that is a march on the King's Road. Elsewhere they will be even slower. And if the Fat Flower does abandon his siege, we will have word from Lord Robert's brother."

"True enough." Jon Arryn nodded at Brynden Tully, standing not too far from him around the large map of the realm below the Neck they were using. The castle's Great Hall was usually arranged to host feasts or other celebrations, but the tables had been pushed together and all in the hall were crowding around to get a look and so that their voices might be heard. "Not without warning and not soon, but eventually. Until such a time has come, it is our time to decide." He motioned for Gods Eye and the lands beyond it. "With Harrenhal, Darry, and Maidenpool under our control, the east is locked down. Should the king wish to march north, he will have to take them again, and that might take many moons, if it succeeds at all. That leaves the sea or the west."

Settlements and rivers dotted the lands on that side, some of which still harboured loyalties for the Iron Throne, even against the orders of their liege. Hoster Tully had made plain the consequences for that at Rushing Falls, but those living close to the Crownlands had been witness to Lord Connington's march as well and had added their own strength to his.

Bronze Yohn Royce, a mountain of a man even standing next to Robert, thumbed a gauntleted hand onto the table, frowning. "Lord Melcolm has eyes on the sea around Crackclaw Point. He might not be capable of matching the Royal Navy at sea, but we will know of their movements should they sail from the Gullet."

"Even if Rhaegar were to assault Maidenpool by sea, those harbour defences are strong. He would need an army besieging by land as well. Harrenhal is not close, but certainly close enough to relieve the town." Hoster Tully crossed his arms, and shook his head. "Anything further into the Bay of Crabs would be wilful folly. The water is too often shallow beyond Saltpans, and too narrow for more than a trading galley at multiple points. There are many merchants from the Free Cities unwilling to brave those shallows without local guides and Rhaegar's captains are men of Blackwater Bay and the Narrow Sea, not Ironborn on longships."

"And even with Lord Tywin on his side, marching through the Westerlands to reach the pass at the Golden Tooth is exposing the capital and his own back to us," Jon Arryn added, finger resting on the Narrow Sea. "If Rhaegar intends to march against us, he will have to choose the western side, as Lord Connington did. Those lands are known to him, and the supply lines tested."

"Then our course of action is clear. March now, on the capital and Rhaegar, and gain surprise for our side," Lord Bracken said. Then, with one hand on the pommel of his sword, he threw a dangerous glare across the table to where Lord Blackwood stood in a cloak of raven-feathers, the two rivalling lords deliberately separated ever since news from the court had arrived. "Before there is time for doubts. Or treachery."

"Enough," Ned interrupted, already tired of this rift in their camp. And he was aware that he was naturally inclined to side with House Blackwood — unlike most south of the Neck they still kept the Old Gods, as he did — but right here right now was no place for these suspicions, justified or not. Antagonising each other even more certainly would not make anything better. "Surely our cause is stronger than a king's word, set on driving a petty rift."

"Lord Stark speaks truly," Jon Arryn added after a moment, quiet approval in blue eyes. "We stand together here. Rhaegar is the king, but if he intends to have peace in the realm, he will offer terms, if it takes him facing our cause across the battlefield to see it as just. Until that time has come, we hold our lines, on both sides of the Gods Eye."

"And why should he be king?" Robert, who had been unusually, thoughtfully quiet, asked the entire hall, drawing all eyes to him and daring anyone to interrupt. "Once, that family had dragons and all of us bowed, but now? What have we had of House Targaryen but strife and discord? How many kings mad or weak or both do we have to suffer before all agree it has been enough?"

A loud fist impacted the table and Robert's eyes were bright under a frowning brow. "I say this one is far enough. I'll stand here among you and bellow it to the heavens if I have to. Not one more!" A dangerous smile split his face. "I fear no dragon, and this one is half a coward and half mad. Lord Tywin joins him? Let him, and we'll bloody the lion's nose as well! Let us see how well he likes us after that."

Ned could see the way that Robert's words were affecting those gathered in the hall, shoulders squaring and men standing taller than they had been before.

"Lord Bracken has the right of it, I say. We march! If Rhaegar meets us in the field he won't escape me, and if he will not, he is twice a coward. And I'll call no coward king so long as I draw breath," Robert said darkly and met every gaze in the hall. "We take King's Landing and the throne, and I'll sit that ugly chair myself! Terms?" He grasped for his belt and his spiked war hammer buried through the map and deep into the wood with a crunch. "These are our terms! And I'll personally offer them to everyone who wishes a closer look."

A beat of quiet, to let words and meanings settle.

"I have no need of vows or oaths from you here. Your fealty is every enemy slain on the field, every drop of blood spilled for justice and honour and glory! Every deed done for victory! Follow me, and you'll never obey cowards or madmen again. We have no need for any dragon kings, not anymore. It is time we made our own!"

As the hall erupted, Ned thought suddenly of the letter daringly sent and discussed in private between him and Jon and Robert. A queen's, a mother's plea for mercy, clear even beneath words that carefully outlined a treasonous offer for alliance.

But there could be mercy even in glory and victory.

I hope you enjoyed chapter 44, though slightly delayed.

Before anyone asks, next chapter will be with Naruto again.

Harrenhal is ludicrously large. The godswood alone is twenty acres, which depending on how you measure, is more than half of the largest castle in the real world, Malbork castle in Poland. That area alone makes defending difficult, because you need to cover all those walls with men. It's honestly no wonder that a reduced House Whent only lives in one of the five castle towers in AGOT/ACOK.

That is also how Theon taking Winterfell is believable at all. There should never be a scenario in which there are no guards at Winterfell, especially with your young prince residing there, but if there weren't any or very few, little stops you from actually getting in.

Sieges usually involved building fortifications around the besieged castle. A ditch is the simplest, but the longer it went on, the more fortified the attacking position would become. Both against sorties from inside the castle as well as against any relief force that might arrive from the outside.

Ned's siege on Harrenhal is rather short, so with the castle's size they haven't managed much in that time.

A point on levies. The ordinary farmer would normally not be asked to fight in any wars. Without training they are largely useless anyways. George sometimes seems like he can't decide whether soldiers are drawn from the larger population like the World Wars/Cold War/or more generally since the widespread use of gunpowder in personal arms on battlefields, or are made up from the higher echelons of society whose duty is to learn the warrior's trade. Peasants might be made to give service, but generally only if they owned land themselves and therefore owed service to their liege.

Defense is another matter. If you are being invaded, everyone fights, obviously. But that is more militia than a real military force.

The Freys only joined the rebels very late into the rebellion. Which incidentally wrecks the reputation of their house, just like most things current Lord Walder does. He really did a number on his family name. It's almost impressive.

Robert only announces any intent to claim the Iron Throne around the Battle of the Trident in canon, not before. He is Rhaegar's cousin, so some might have played with the idea before, but his motivators are glory, victory, and rage at Rhaegar. Until that point, the goal was to force the crown to make a deal, basically. Rhaegar has other plans of course, goals beyond their understanding if you will, but the rational option is to eventually return to peace.

As always, thanks for reading and reviewing. Until next time.