Ned II

Leaving Winterfell had pained him in many ways. Since he had ridden back to the seat of his family fifteen years ago, he had left the castle many times and had been gone for weeks, even months if needed, but never had he ridden south of Moat Cailin again. The south had seen the end of his father, his brother, his sister, dozens of honorable men he called friends, and thousands of the northern smallfolk that had marched at his command. Nine years ago he and a host of eight thousand men had been picked up by a part of the Redwyne fleet off the coast of the Rills, to lay siege to Harlaw, before joining his force with Robert's to storm Pyke, but that had been after refusing to ride his host south to the Westerlands to join up with the King's army at Lannisport.

The last time he had ridden to the south he had been a teenager rushing off to fight a war to avenge his family, and to rescue his sister. Now he was a man grown, with a wife whom he loved and children of his own, one of whom he had seen wed just the other day, and another two who joined him on this march south. He was going to be separated from most of his family, and his home, for who knew how long.

While he didn't march with thirty-thousand northerners at his back like he had done all those years ago, he had taken half of the house guard, a hundred men, including Jory Cassel who was Captain of the Guard. He had also taken some members of his house staff, including Vayon Poole, the steward of Winterfell, and Hullen, the master of horse. Sansa rode in a wagon with her friend Jeyne Poole, Vayon's daughter, and Bran rode next to Ser Robar, who would accompany them on the journey to King's Landing in order to participate in the tourney Robert wanted to hold in honor of him becoming Hand, despite his protest against doing so. The only reason Ned wasn't putting up too much of a fight against the tourney was because it allowed him to spend more time with his second son.

The King, despite being rid of most of the retinue he had traveled north with, was accompanied by three of the Kingsguard, ten Baratheon men, a dozen knights with a few squires in tow, and his own squire, Lancel Lannister. It had seemed a small amount to travel back to King's Landing with, at least when one of your party was a king, but when Ned had expressed his concerns to Robert, the King had merely slapped his back with a laugh.

"What do I need another fifty men to guard me for when I have Ned Stark riding besides me?" Robert had said.

Ned felt at ease on their travels throughout the North, this land was known to him and the Starks were held in high regard by highborn and smallfolk alike, it was past the Neck that he had his worries. Still, even without most of Robert's retinue they were likely too big of a party for any bandits and highwaymen to attempt to attack.

Robert was as carefree on the ride south as he had been at Winterfell in the ten days after his family had left. While their party marched down the road, Robert would spur his horse in some direction or another, sometimes to try to chase down a deer seen grazing nearby, other times to race up a hill so he could have a better look of the land, and then there were times where he did it just because he wanted to race. Each time he would take off he would yell at Ned to follow him, King's orders, and Ned would order the men around him to follow before he'd take off after his friend. At night Robert would gather the knights who traveled with them around the fire and over several skins of wine they would share their stories of war and triumph, or tell bawdy jokes that would make a maiden blush. To Ned it was as if the King was a teen in the Vale again, taking the time to enjoy himself as he left the duty of ruling the realm to his small council while he was away.

They were approaching two weeks since setting out from Winterfell. Moat Cailin would likely be coming into view shortly, and it would give Ned a chance to see how the improvements to the North's most important defensive position was coming. He was already seeing the benefit of one of his deeds, as their travels had been smooth so far.

"How has the road remained in such good condition?" Robert asked him a few days into their ride. "In the south we lost many days riding because of holes in the road breaking axles of wagons and that damnable wheelhouse. And we don't have the winters you do."

"I paid to fix the road in the North after the last winter," Ned had answered. That winter was as long ago as Arya was old. "It took over a year but every hole and every crack within the road from the borders of the Riverlands to the Wall itself has been repaired."

Robert had been silent for a moment, hand disappearing in his beard to scratch at his chin. "The Kingsroad and its wellbeing falls to the Crown, and the Crown should be the one to repair it. When we arrive at King's Landing, speak to Littlefinger, I will have you compensated."

Outwardly, Ned bowed his head and expressed his gratitude. Inwardly, Ned had no wish to speak with Petyr Baelish but knew, as the man was Master of Coin, that he would have no choice but to. Catelyn spoke highly of the small man, and Robert talked about his ability to rub two coins together to produce a third, but Ned remembered the story of the small boy who had challenged his brother Brandon to a duel over Cat's hand. Fifteen years ago the man was so in love with Catelyn he had been willing to die to prove it. How could Ned expect to trust a man who loved his wife so? Sure there was a high chance that Cat still held a place in the man's heart, but that place did not include Ned.

And Baelish was only one of his concerns with Robert's small council. Grand Maester Pycelle had been a Targaryen man, serving the Dragon Kings for twenty-five years before he had become a Lannister man, urging the Mad King to open the gates to the Lannister army, which had turned out to be the Mad King's undoing. There was little doubt the man was still a Lannister man.

Varys was another who worked under the Targaryens, but while Pycelle had served under three of them before Robert, Varys had been brought over from the Free Cities by the Mad King himself, and had remained loyal to the end. That Robert had pardoned such a man, a man who thrived on deceit and secrets, had made Ned's skin crawl. That he allowed him to remain in his position on the small council was even worse.

Ned knew little of the youngest Baratheon brother, Renly. The boy had been born at Storm's End during Ned and Robert's fostering in the Vale and when the war he raged with Robert across the realm had taken place, Renly was a child of six and besieged at his family's ancestral castle. When Ned had relieved the siege Mace Tyrell laid upon Storm's End, he had only stayed for a few days before directing his fellow northmen home as he set off in search of his sister. Robert had named his youngest brother Master of Laws only recently, but Ned did not know if it was due to nepotism or because Renly truly deserved the honor.

The only one Ned thought he could rely on would be Stannis. The middle Baratheon brother held no love for Ned, he had known that since the Greyjoy Rebellion when he could see the envy Stannis had for Ned's relationship with Robert, even after years of not seeing each other. He doubted the six years since then had made any difference. But he knew Stannis to be a man of honor and duty, and that he could work with. Except Stannis had left King's Landing shortly after Jon Arryn's death, and ravens from other members of the small council requesting his return had gone unanswered. When that news had reached Robert he growled that he'd travel to Dragonstone himself to knock some sense into his brother.

"I thought to ride with you, your grace."

Ned was shaken from his thoughts as Ser Robar rode up next to him and Robert, Bran following closely behind. Ned smiled at his son, enjoying the time he got to spend with his middle son these past few weeks.

"Ser Robar," Robert said with a welcoming grin. "How do you think you'll fare in the tourney?"

"Come Bran," Ned said, waving his son forward as Ser Robar and Robert talked about the different knights they suspected to show up for the tourney, and how each of them would fare. "I've noticed you ride a horse much better now, more sturdy in the saddle."

Bran's horse was a pony, small in size even when full grown. It allowed his smaller frame and strength more control over the horse on his rides with Ser Robar. There was no family guard to keep an eye on Bran, to lend assistance should he struggle to control the beast he rode like there had been when he rode at Winterfell.

"Ser Robar makes sure I practice between my duties," Bran said with a look of pride on his face. "He said it is just as important for a knight to know how to ride a horse as swing a sword."

"Ser Robar speaks true," Ned said. "If there is ever a battle, as a knight you would be one of the cavalry, meant to charge and break infantry lines."

"Is that what you did when you fought in King Robert's war?"

Ned recalled the battles he had fought so long ago; only twice had he rode a horse into them. The first was the Battle of the Bells, but he had quickly been forced to dismount as they fought through the streets and in the buildings. The second was the Battle of the Trident, where he had stayed on his horse throughout the entire battle, until Robert had slayed the Dragon Prince and the Mad King's army fled the field.

"When needed, though you must remember, I am no knight. I am of the North, and it is rare for those of us who follow the old ways to be knighted. Now, tell me what you think of the Vale."

Bran's eyes lit up and spoke of all the places he had visited in the Vale in the several months he had been there. His favorite view though, while he had never personally been to it, was the Eyrie. He had seen it from afar and he had marveled at how high up it was. Ned had made the treacherous trek up and down from the Eyrie many times in his youth. Jon Arryn had told him that capturing the castle would be all but impossible, but Ned knew like all other castles it could be sieged, you just needed to know of the hidden passages in the mountains in order to block supplies from reaching it.

"Ned, I meant to ask," Robert said, interrupting Bran and Ned's conversation, "when did you set about doing that?"

Robert nodded his head at a small village ahead of them. There was a large wooden keep with a stone foundation, a few more wood and stone buildings, a handful of hovels, and then about a dozen small farms with plowed fields, pens for the few livestock that roamed, and three barns. Further up the road, past the town, rose four stone towers.

"It started a couple of years after I arrived back in the North, right after Sansa was born. First the towers, then the keep, then the other buildings."

"Afraid of an attack or planning to rebel?" Robert asked.

If the Mad King had asked such a question, Ned would have been scared at what the man thought, but it was not the Mad King; it was his friend, who though many pounds heavier, still gave him that wide grin that had adorned his face most of their teenage years.

"Rebellion," Ned said with a straight face. "It is said the King drank all the wine in the south and was marching north to take every drop of wine the North had. I could not stand idly by while such a thing happened."

Robert laughed. "Not all the wine, though not for lack of trying I promise you."

"Is this Moat Cailin, father?" Bran asked.

He had often told his kids that Moat Cailin would allow a hundred archers to hold off an army of thousands, now it could hold off even more than that. In the old days a cadet branch of the Starks were the lords of the area, but that line had died out hundreds of years ago. Ned planned to start the Starks of Moat Cailin anew. His first thought had been Jon, allowing the boy to start his own house, but he would never hear the end of it from Cat and that was a headache he didn't need. If Bran followed his dream of becoming a member of the Kingsguard he would never be able to be a lord or have a family. That left Rickon, who was still fifteen years away from being old enough to hold such a position.

"Yes it is. When I took over as the Lord of Winterfell, repairing Moat Cailin was a task I set for myself. It has been a slow process, and still has a few years left, but it is much improved from what it used to be."

A rider approached their column from the south, and Ned could see it was Jory Cassel, who he had ordered to ride ahead and speak with the Steward of Moat Cailin.

Ser Robar looked up at the sky and squinted. "Will we be setting camp soon, your grace?"

Robert looked up at the sky as well. "It is still a few hours until the sun sets but we will stop at Moat Cailin. Last thing I want is to be setting up camp in the bogs anymore than I have to."

"The Neck isn't so bad," Ned said. It was mostly true, as long as you stuck to the Kingsroad that is. While it was uncomfortable sleeping on the stone of the road, when traveling the Neck it was rare to find dry and solid land on the sides of the road to set a tent.

"Aye," Jory Cassel said as he approached them, "until you wake up realizing that warm woman you dreamed you were sharing your blankets with is really a lizard lion." That got a chuckle out of the three men, and a confused look out of Bran. "I bring word from Steward Leobald Tallhart. He says if your grace wishes, he has food to give and rooms ready in his keep for you to spend the night."

"Tell Steward Tallhart his grace wishes," Robert said. "If I'm going to be waking up next to a lizard lion the next few nights, I'd like one night in a warm bed beforehand."

As they moved closer to Moat Cailin, Ned could see the curtain wall starting to take shape. Its foundation was laid, running between the towers. The Kingsroad was still open, a fifty foot gap between the walls where the gatehouse would eventually be built. There were a few men with bows spotted in the windows of the towers, a handful at most. The village around Moat Cailin would need to grow by several thousand for the stronghold to have a proper garrison not supplied by one of the other lords. Their offer of land to farm had attracted a couple of families, but it wasn't enough. Ned wondered if he could get some of the smallfolk in the south to make the trek. Maybe after the next winter, so they'd have time to settle in before the snows started to fall.

Three days later they finally reached the end of the bogs of the Neck. To their left rose the high peaks of the mountains of the Vale, and somewhere to the right, past the hills and farther than any eye could see, would be the Twins. The home to Late Lord Frey, as his goodfather had called Walder Frey after he arrived at the Trident the day after the battle. Walder Frey and his men had been summoned a week before Ned and Jon Arryn had arrived at Riverrun for their dual wedding to the Tully sisters, and when Ned and Jon had left two weeks after their wedding, the Freys were still nowhere in sight.

"I am the king of seven kingdoms," Robert said, as he gazed upon the mountains of the Vale, "and I often forget that the North is the size of all the others combined. More than half our ride is through your lands."

"The North is vast," Ned agreed, "but its population is sparse."

"That's because the weather is as dour as its people. Everyone's too miserable to fuck."

Ned shook his head as Robert's booming laughter followed his words. He was grateful neither of his children had been around to hear the King's joke.

There was a commotion behind him, as the horses in the line began to act skittish. Ned and Robert didn't have a chance to look behind them before it was happening to their horses as well. As he struggled to get the beast under control Ned saw at his side Lady, who had raced up from her spot farther back in the line, slowing down to match his pace. Only a few months old, the direwolf pup was almost the size of a grown hound.

Glancing behind him, Ned saw that Sansa was riding a horse instead of in a wagon, and was approaching where he rode.

"Where is Jeyne?" Ned asked his daughter as she came to his side.

"Still in the wagon. She's little practice on a horse."

"Is the wolf behaving?"

"Oh yes father! Lady is a perfect lady," Sansa gushed, looking at the direwolf that walked at their side. "She's much better behaved than the others!"

He had been nervous about bringing the direwolf to King's Landing, even if she was more well behaved than her litter mates. It was a large city filled with over a half a million people, and was made of stone and wood. It was no place for a wild animal, especially one as large and dangerous as a direwolf. People would panic just at the sight of her, and while she was well behaved now as a pup, there was no telling how she would act when she got older. Last thing he needed was for the wolf to kill someone, especially someone from an important family who would rightfully take offense.

But Sansa had pleaded with him for hours to let her bring Lady, eyes filled with tears as she sobbed and begged. When he had broached the subject with Robert, the King had readily approved of bringing the direwolf. The King found the thought of the direwolf scaring people at the mere sight of it funny, and he laughed even more when he thought of all the stuffy lords, all high and mighty, wetting themselves as the animal walked amongst them at court.

Not that Ned would allow the direwolf out of the Tower of the Hand, except for jaunts in the Kingswood to let her stretch her legs and do some hunting. He had ordered Harwin, the son of Hullen and one of the guards traveling with him, to get himself nice and friendly with Lady because he was going to be the one in charge of bringing her in and out of the city.

"Make sure she stays that way. King's Landing is a lot larger and a lot more crowded than Winterfell," Ned said, repeating words he had already voiced to her twice before. "If she causes any issues she will either need to be sent home or killed."

Sansa's eyes widened and her face lost what little coloring it had at the thought.

"You can't! I will make sure she doesn't cause any problems father, I promise!"

Ned nodded his head. "You named her Lady, now you must make sure she acts like one."

"She'll cause less trouble than Arya would have," Sansa stated matter-of-factly.

Ned knew he should scold his daughter for saying something like that about her sister, but he couldn't fight the grin that took over his face. He had hoped his two daughters would grow up to be fast friends like Jon and Robb were, but while the two boys had some differences, the differences between his daughters was too large for them to overcome. Sansa was a southern lady who liked music, sewing, and hearing stories of gallant knights. Arya was a northern she-wolf who liked fighting, riding her horse, and going places she wasn't allowed. There were few moments of peace when the two of them were near each other, which was another of the reasons he had thought it best to leave Arya in Winterfell.

"Arya is a she-wolf. Only in the North can a she-wolf thrive. I tell you this because it does not just refer to your sister. There might come a time in the future where, no matter what you do, Lady will need to go back to the North, you must prepare yourself for such a day."

Sansa looked at the direwolf who, sensing his daughter's look, tilted her head up to stare at Sansa. They stared into each other's eyes for a moment, as if having a conversation before Sansa looked back at him.

"There will never be a need."