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Robert knew he was no King, and he had known it ever since he had first planted his ass on the Iron Throne over the cooling corpse of the mad fucker. A week had barely passed before he had grown tired of the constant ravens and pleas and words from Tywin and Jon both. Over the decade and a half that had followed…he had grown to hate that damned chair and the crown on his head—which of course, was mightily helped along by his bitch of a wife.
However, as he sat in the Great Hall along with every other Great Lord and the Mormont woman, Robert solemnly stared at the goblet in front of him. Ned had placed it himself as he had entered the hall…but he had seen the judgment in his brother's eyes, the sheer disappointment within them making his need for alcohol go away as nothing had ever done in his life. Now, as he sat amongst the various Lords, sober and without a whore for the first time in years…he felt different. For the first time in a while, he was able to think clearly about the situation in front of him, and he wanted to do so too, for the sake of Ned and his bastard—because he knew that if he ordered Jon to handle it this time, things would go more downhill than they already had.
And that brought his mind to the bastard—Ned's bastard, which was still a bit of a strange thought to him even after a decade and a half. A tall, strapping, powerful, and skilled warrior, with those Stark looks and that charming smile. Jon Snow was everything Robert had wished his own sons to be like when he had been betrothed to Lyanna, but that dream too was snatched away by the damned dragonspawn and the cunt he called a wife. Watching the boy make a fool out of soldiers older than he had made him look at his own son in disgust, his reedy little body and that golden princess hair making him almost throw up.
As if agreeing with his thoughts, the door on their left opened up, and Robert turned his head right as the subject of his thoughts walked in. His hands by his sides, Jon Snow looked every inch the son of a Great Lord and the warrior he was. Instead of the cowardice and the fear one might have expected from a bastard meeting the King and several Lords for massacring an entire island, all Robert saw in the boy was confidence and calmness he had seldom seen in his entire life. Behind him, Robb Stark, the Heir Ned named after him, walked inside. A little shorter than Jon but stockier than him, he was a handsome lad with auburn hair and clear blue eyes.
Over the days that he had been in Winterfell, Robert had seen his namesake several times, and each time, he felt his respect for the young man climb higher and higher. Whether it had been attending to the care and needs of the women Winterfell was housing—or to the day-to-day running of the keep and meeting the various Lords and Heirs present in the castle, he had never seen the man fall short of what was expected from a Great heir.
"Jon Snow," his Hand began from beside him, making him blink out of his thoughts as his eyes snapped towards the aged man, before he turned towards the subject of discussion, "Do you know why you are present before us today?"
"I do, Lord Hand," I answered, barely controlling the urge to roll my eyes at the way Jon Arryn was staring at me, and also the quite stupid question he had asked. Nodding my head in the direction of the chained forms of Rodrik Harlaw and his sisters along with the esteemed Prince of the Ironborn, "It is because of the actions of the North that saved the two hundred women from His Grace's kingdoms and dealt a blow to the Ironborn who broke His peace."
"You call killing an island full of men a blow?" another, far firmer voice chimed in, and my eyes moved to meet Tywin Lannister's as the man tilted his head ever so slightly, his fingers drumming over the table for a moment as he looked at me unblinkingly, "Also, you think yourself capable enough to deal with the Ironborn on the behalf of the King or your Lord Father without asking either of them? Do you think yourself to be above them, or did your education simply not cover the concept of permissions and what it means to be a bastard?"
"It was a blow, My Lord," I nodded with a smile, remembering the way we had completely annihilated every single reaver on Harlaw island, and imagining the way every single one was going be killed off in the coming war, "Killing a few hundred Ironborn is nothing but a blow, when the last time a Great Lords daughter was abducted, tens of thousands died."
I let that statement sink in for a moment, my eyes taking in the reaction of everyone sitting in front of me. Tywin simply raised an eyebrow, his expression unchanging in the face of the metaphorical wildfire I had just lit in the Hall. Mace Tyrell simply gasped, and so did the High Septon sitting beside him…but my attention was grabbed by the sounds of the popping knuckles that came from the one who was going to decide my fate. Ignoring the others, I looked into the eyes of a visibly angry Robert Baratheon. For that fleeting instant as his eyes blazed with anger and his fists tightened with fury, I could imagine the pathetic, fat pig swinging his hammer around and earning the moniker of The Demon of the Trident.
Deciding to continue on before someone decided to say something, I spoke, "As for the fact that I led an attack on Harlaw Island after waking up from my slumber? It was supported by Maege Mormont, and pardon my actions if they were unjustified my lord, but I wasn't going to let thieving, raping little pieces of shit steal my sister away. We grew up on the stories of how Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon went to war for Lyanna Stark, and at that moment, with my Lyanna kidnapped and no time to waste…attacking Harlaw Island seemed like the best idea."
"And what about the fact that you sent a raven to the King without informing your…Lord Father about the events that had happened on the Harlaw island?" the High Septon spoke up, the pause before the 'Lord Father' making it clear what he had intended to say in the first place, "Adding to that, you laid hands upon several trueborns, which according to the Faith is strictly prohibited and punished by a beheading."
"I don't follow your religion," I shrugged carelessly, and the High Septon just blinked at my response, while to the side, I heard Robert snort loudly, "As for sending a raven to the King, I didn't want any time to be wasted before everyone knew what had happened on the Harlaw Island. And I reasoned the King should be present for the execution of Theon Greyjoy, which therefore ends a Great House, as well as see to the hundreds of women we rescued."
"Which was right of you, lad," Robert grunted out, sending a look at the High Septon before he turned back toward me, "Now, as for laying hands on a highborn, I hear your sister was the one to kill Harras Harlaw?"
"She was," I nodded, feeling the hair on my neck rise as a wave of anger and anticipation washed over me. While I had full confidence that no punishment would be given to us, I couldn't help but imagine a scenario in which for some fucked up reason, Robert Baratheon decides on punishing us both, "After we got back to Winterfell, we performed the Blood Offering beneath the Weirwood…and well, here we are."
"Your father told us about it," He nodded slowly, before he stood up and leaned forwards, his blue eyes barely visible as he squinted slightly, "I understand the circumstances you and…Lyanna were in, and therefore, I am pardoning you both this time. But if any of you kill or lay hands on another highborn, then I am afraid I will have to punish you."
"That would be impossible, My King," I answered after a few moments of silence and I heard both Robb and my Uncle take a deep breath as they realized what I was about to say, "The Blood Offering was accepted by the Gods, and therefore, the North is going to attack the Ironborn this time before they can attack us."
"What the hell does that mean, Ned?!"
"It means that whether the Ironborn attack our shores first or not," my Uncle began as he grabbed Ice and walked around the table to stand by my side, his voice firm and his stance unyielding as he stared at the Lords and the King before us, "Whether the other Kingdoms come or not…The North is going to wage war on the Ironborn, and kill every single Lord and his son. Ravens have already been sent to the various acting Lords and Maesters all over the North, who have begun raising the arms and forces even as we speak."
"Kill every single Ironborn House?!" Mace Tyrell gasped, his jaw hanging open as his eyes widened and he shakily rose to his feet. Besides him, Tywin simply grunted at the declaration, while the Lord Hand fell back in his chair, his eyes disbelieving and horrified as he stared at my Uncle. To be honest, at first, even I had been a little shocked when my Uncle had gone along with my suggestion of performing the Blood Offering—but then again, he was also going to behead Theon on the morning the war would officially start. "What in the name of the Father has come over you, Lord Stark?! You are going to listen to your bastard over matters like these?! And when was the last time such a thing even done?!"
"Lord Tyrell," Uncle snapped sharply, and I felt my eyes widen a little at the cold anger in his tone as he slammed Ice tip first on the floor, the scabbard making a dull thud against the stone, "You may follow the Faith all you like, but have care of how you speak about Jon and Lyanna in the North. They may have been born without wedlock, but they are my children in every way that matters, and for me, there is no difference between them and Robb. As for listening to my son over matters like these…it is my decision, and solely my decision to take. As soon as the women from the Reach and the Westerlands are taken back by you and Lord Lannister, as well as the King and the Lords are back in their Kingdoms, the North will begin its attack."
"That is all a matter for later, but has this ever been done before?" Jon Arryn growled, pointing a finger at the kneeling forms of the Ironborn in the room, "I signed the treaty which said that Theon Greyjoy was going to be the Thrones hostage to prevent further raiding from the Ironborn. I also saw the treaty signed between you and Rodrik Harlaw which says that the Starks and the Mormonts will get three-fourths of his wealth. Your son has already taken their Valyrian sword, and Harras Harlaw is dead. What more could you want fro-"
"Lord Hand, Do you think the Boltons are the first to rebel against the Starks?" Robb chuckled a little as he took a step forwards and stood by my side, and I blinked as I realized how I was being flanked by…my family on either side, "Centuries ago, much before the time of Aegon's Conquest, the Frosts were a clan that ruled the lands just west of us, and their hold extended up to the lands that now come under the Glovers and the Flints. A few of their sons one day decided to kidnap one of the daughters of the Stark that ruled as the King of Winter…and when the soldiers brought those men to the King, he decided to perform a Blood Offering."
"And do you know what happened after the heads and bodies were completely covered by the leaves of the Weirwood?" My Uncle picked up right as Robb paused for a moment, his voice echoing in the large room as he stared each man before him in the eye. And just to mess with things, I once again controlled the temperature for the second time in the day, dropping it sharply around us. I mentally cackled with glee as I saw both the High Septon and Mace Tyrell shiver slightly, while Jon Arryn too trembled a little as he rubbed his hands together for a moment. Continuing on with the story we all had heard as kids from the Old Nan, Uncle spoke, "Despite facing threats from two sides from the Frosts as well as the Boltons, the Starks won without the King, or a single son dying in the battles that came. The Frosts were removed root and stem, each of them killed in the war or put to death once the fighting was over. Their women, on the other hand, were taken by the victors, and the Frosts were completely forgotten by much of the populace of the North as their very name was burnt from the local records and stories. Their lands were distributed amongst the houses loyal to us, and their castle pulled down stone by stone."
"This is what awaits the Ironborn. Total eradication from the face of Planetos. I don't care what the Maesters at the Citadel or your courtiers call this, Lord Hand," Eddard Stark, the Lord of Winterfell and Lord Paramount of the North declared as he pointed a finger to the West, "But once the snow settles and the winter storm calms down, there won't be a single Ironborn who will ever think of looking at the North ever again."
"I won't mind that," Tywin hummed quietly, his fingers drumming on the table as he looked at the kneeling forms of Rodrik and Theon, "Those Islands, pathetic as they have been in the history of Westeros, are a good source of Iron. And one can easily set up trading outposts on them. Despite getting soundly defeated every time a new fool ascends to the Salt Throne, they seem to never learn."
"They can be split four ways, each for a kingdom that comes," Uncle nodded after a moment, turning to look at Robert, "They broke your peace, spat in the face of the kindness you showed them…and they attacked my children. I am sorry for this, my friend, but…the Ironborn are going to suffer for this."
"Sorry? What are you fucking sorry for?! Fucking Finally," Robert grinned, and for the first time since I had seen this man…I saw him truly happy. His eyes alight with excitement, the King of Seven Kingdoms finally looked something like a thinking human as he slammed his fist on the table, a flush coming over his face, "Finally something worth being a King for. By the Gods Ned, you don't know how happy this has made me! We are going to fight once again, side by side like all those years ago when I put that dragonspawn down, and when I crushed that squid's sons under my hammer!"
"I support the King in this," Tyrell blustered up as soon as Robert stopped, his eyes looking at the man as if waiting for biscuits, "I will soon send a raven to the Hightowers and the Redwynes, to send their fleets to this side of Westeros as soon as possible My King! You can count on Highgardens support at any time and in anything!"
"Bu-"
"Oh stop it, Jon," Robert scoffed coming around the table—and almost knocking it down with his gut as he banged into the corner, "Send word to Hightower, Redwyne, and Stannis. They fucking attacked Ned's kids, and dared to take his daughter. They fucking decided to break the promise of peace, even after I spared their scrawny, salty asses on their wasteland of a home. And you are a fool if you think I will let Ned go to war alone! Ready the fleets and send word to King's Landing, I want every Kingdom on its way to kill some fucking squids."
"We never really thought about how we're going to attack the Ironborn after this," Robb commented as soon as we entered the Solar and the door closed behind us. We both sat down on the chairs in front of the desk as Uncle hanged Ice upon the wall, and Robb continued, "Last I heard, only the Mormonts and the Glovers had boats on this side of the North, while the other seaside Houses each have a few. Manderly's own quite a few trading vessels, but I don't know about how many longships and warships they have."
"We have quite a few more boats than what the last records show," came the answer as he sat down on his seat, sighing loudly as he rubbed his forehead, "It is not even close enough to what we need ot go to war against the Iron Islands, but that was never my intention to begin with."
"What do you mean?" Robb and I both asked at the same time as we leaned forwards, adn we both shared a look as he chuckled loudly, pouring ale for all of us.
"I know Robert better than I know myself," he said, the smile on his face disappearing for a second as he drank a sip from the mug, looking out of the window at the darkness of the night, "I knew that he would never let me go to any fight alone if he can help it, and he the bloody King. Even if the North would have had a fully functioning sea-faring force, the Ironborn are no joke when it comes to battles on sea. And from what I know of Balon and his insane brothers, he would never bow down to the customary surrender a King sends first, or hand over any Ironborn as hostages. It will be war once he calls in all of his houses, and another open rebellion from the Iron Islands. "
"You knew he would call on the whole kingdom," Robb whispered, his jaw dropping open as he put the mug of ale down, and I too did the same as I remembered and realized something at the same time. Eddard Stark might not have been much of a political knife or a manipulator and string-puller like Tywin…but he was damn good at battle strategy—as he said, he knew Robert Baratheon better than anyone.
"I did," he nodded, pulling a parchment out from his drawer and placing it in front of us, "Just to be sure, I had already sent a letter to the Redwynes and the Hightowers both, asking for the aid of their swords and boats in exchange of a Lady of the North."
"And what about my betrothal with Alys?!"
"Wait what?!" I blinked, looking at Robb before my eyes snapped to my Uncle, "He is already betrothed?! When the fuck did this happen?"
"Two years ago," Uncle sighed, as he gave me a smile, "I thought we would tell you once you both were to return the next year, but all this happened and I completely forgot about it. As for the betrothal, the Karstarks would have understood our reasons for breaking the agreement. Thankfully, Robert's declaration today prevents me from declaring your betrothal with Alys as void, and angering Rickard."
"So," I began, revising my opinion of Eddard Stark rapidly as I took a long pull from the mug of ale, feeling it warm its way down to stomach, "What now?"
"Now?" he raised an eyebrow, drumming his fingers on the table as his eyes seemed to flash in the torchlight, his whole demeanor changing as the sound of his knuckles popping echoed in the solar, "Now we sharpen our swords, and polish our armors, and get rid of the Ironborn once and for all."