The Bastard's Band
Author's Note:Long time no see people of this site. Decided to post a story I am working on over here as well. Hopefully people like it.
Chapter 1
Eddard I
Eddard Stark raised an eyebrow at the sweating, red form of Mace Tyrell as he stepped out of his wheelhouse and was greeted as decorum would warrant by his Lady Wife, Catelyn, and himself. The servants had prepared a feast while his children would behave properly and show their strengths.
A knightly figure stepped out behind the Lord Paramount of the Reach. Garlan Tyrell, the second son.
He had received a raven stating that the man would arrive so while he wasn't surprised, he still had no clue what the man could want. A betrothal seemed most likely. A long Summer preceded a longer Winter and while the North always prepared for Winter, having the supplies of the Reach would be a boon.
One thing was certain, he could not have his heir marry a Southerner, not again. His own marriage to Catelyn, while understood and accepted, had rustled many Northern Lords feathers. He doubted Mace would suggest a match for his daughter that was anything less than Robb. His girls were too young to even consider marrying Willas or Garlan. Perhaps their youngest son, Loras? Even then, certainly not Arya. Highgarden would be burned to the ground within a moon.
Hopefully talking with Lord Tyrell would enlighten him about what they wanted so much that they were willing to travel to Winterfell to get.
"Lord Tyrell." Catelyn curtsied. "It is an honor to host you in our home." Despite growing up in the Vale, Southern interactions still confounded him. Perhaps he had grown to expect that everyone would be like Robert and him. A time of uncertain politeness followed by eventually genuine, straight-forward interactions.
What a fool he had been and what a boon in these cases Catelyn was. Even while pregnant, she was able to act as a gracious, polite host while he stood there as still and welcoming as their Valyrian Steel sword's namesake.
"Oh, it is my honor to visit." The Lord said, a merry smile on his face. Though the bags under his eyes seem to dampen the image of the man greatly. "Winterfell is said to be one of the greatest keeps in all of Westeros. Personally, I believe Highgarden to still be the most beautiful, but Brandon the Builder was certainly something! And the snow! It almost never snows, not in Highgarden. We tend to have more pollen than snow. And when it does, in fact, snow, it certainly doesn't stick. Which is certainly good for the-"
"My apologies Lord Stark." Garlan laughed as his father continued to babble. "My father is quite nervous and recent issues have not helped matters much. Quite the opposite in fact."
"Garlan!"
"I understand." He did not. He was honorable, not an obtuse ass. He knew when to avoid addressing certain matters directly. "I hope it all works out."
"Thank you." Mace awkwardly scratched his head. The Fat Flower seemed out of his element. More than usual, that is.
"Thank you, Lord Stark." Lord Tyrell flushed again. The man turned red quite often. It would not do him well in the frigid North, Eddard thought to himself with no small amount of humor. The man was Southerner through and through.
"Would you like to take a walk around before we go inside?" Eddard offered. "While unlikely to be as beautiful as the famed Highgarden's own, the Glass Gardens are a sight to behold, nevertheless. My wife could show Ser Garlan inside to grab a bite to eat."
"Of course!" Lord Tyrell beamed. The man did not seem to have a subtle bone in his body. It seemed like something that would be both incredibly annoying but also, perhaps, quite an endearing sign of honesty. A more mellowed out, un-warlike Robert.
"No need, Lord Stark." Garlan waved his hands. "I hunger to move about a bit. Sitting in the wheelhouse has left me eager to spar. If you could direct me to your training yard, I would be greatly obliged."
"Of course." Catelyn smiled. "Perhaps you can show Robb some swordplay. Ser Cassel is a great teacher, but having another perspective would be a boon."
With a nod towards her husband, Catelyn led Garlan towards the training yard as Eddard found himself walking alone with Lord Tyrell.
The man, to his credit, tried to bring up topics but after a few words both of them found that they were floundering around. Neither of them excelled in the hidden meanings and triple layered jabs of Southern conversation.
Even after many years with his Southern wife, Lord Stark couldn't help but realize that he struggled to make any small talk with Southern lords and ladies. Robert had always taken charge of conversations, Eddard nodding along and keeping his best friend from going too far.
They gazed upon the Glass Gardens and Lord Tyrell spoke of their beauty. He did not lie that they were the most thing he had seen, and it would be a lie for even Eddard had heard tales of the luxurious gardens at the heart of the Reach. Sansa dreamed of visiting one day, after all.
"I'm sorry if I am not a particular good conversationalist Lord Tyrell." Eddard admitted. He held no talent for dancing around issues so he would do as he always did and cut straight to the point. "His grace has always been better at this sort of matter than I."
Lord Tyrell relaxed.
"It is no bother, Lord Stark." The man paused. "In fact, I am much the same way. My mother, Lady Oleanna is the one who excels at this sort of matter. And most other matters. Maybe all of them. I am just glad that I had not made you hate me in our first proper conversation."
"Not at all." Eddard gave a small smile, which Lord Tyrell returned. "Though, since we are both hopeless at this, I would like for us to disregard politeness and courtesy and go straight to the point."
"I agree." The Tyrell Lord looked far more comfortable now. No deceptions or half-measures at this point. He had decided to say what he wanted upfront, and it had eased the large man's heart.
"Why exactly are you here in Winterfell Lord Tyrell?" Eddard asked, the question they had been dancing around like a pair of drunken fools. "Talks of a betrothal could have begun with a raven and then progressed to an in-person meeting, yet I feel this is more than that."
"My mother is convinced that you are incompetent when it comes to this sort of matter.
"She would be correct." He admitted. "But being Lord of Winterfell and learning to keep a secret or two of my own have allowed me to glean a bit more of the world. I still would not profess to be an expert in Southron politics, but I am far better than the boy who rode to war years ago. Speak plainly, Lord Tyrell."
"As you know, His Grace has not forgiven my House for our role in the Rebellion."
To this day, House Tyrell was perhaps the one house that both rebels and loyalists alike distrusted. To the rebels, Mace Tyrell feasting outside of Storm's End was an act of cruelty and they had aligned with the Mad King. To the loyalists, the Tyrells had ignored their militarily capable bannerman and simply waited out the war and their inaction had led to Rhaegar's fall at the Trident and the Sack of King's Landing.
"Time heals all wounds."
Mace scoffed.
"Not to your foster brother." He shook his head, seeming to age a decade more as he spoke. "His hate remains as strong as ever. Stannis is little better, though we have hardly cause to interact with the man. The Loyalists houses have one another to trust, even if they are watched. My House does not. We need connections to the new King and his legacy."
"But Robert will not allow it."
"Indeed." Mace groaned. "We have offered coin, enough to counter the influence of even the Lannisters somewhat, but the King would not have it. Not even the Hand could convince him. We need a way to enter his good graces."
"And how does that lead you here?"
"I would like to offer a fostering." Eddard blinked.
"What?"
"Robb Stark is your heir." Lord Tyrell explained. "By having him foster in Highgarden, it shows that you consider us trustworthy. Considering the estrangement of you and the King, he will be more inclined to let us in. Even if it is just to get along with your son."
"I find it hard to believe that Robert would go so far just because of a child of mine."
"I think you underestimate the King's sentimentality, Lord Stark." Mace responded. "Even if he isn't so generous, having a connection to the North is a bond of its own sort. Not as great as a true connection with the King, by marriage or appointments, but it is a start."
"You have thought about this for a while, Lord Tyrell." Eddard was surprised. The rumors painted Mace as a fool who could only control the Reach by the direction of his mother.
"My mother and I talked the matter through together." Lord Tyrell admitted. "Lord Renly, our only true friend amongst the Baratheons, also made some suggestions. He suggested Margaery and your heir, but Mother mentioned you'd want a Northern match."
"Lady Oleanna is as perceptive as the rumors say." Catelyn had wondered if the low amount of offers for betrothals were a slight, but perhaps the Southerners realized that Robb would be marrying up North and decided not to waste effort on a doomed endeavor?
"What say you?"
"Respectfully, I must decline." Eddard could not let his son foster. It was a great boon for daughters and second or third sons, but the Heir to the North had to be raised in the North. Despite never fitting in while in the South, Eddard had returned and found himself having to adjust to the North as well. The Vale had been his home, and it showed in many ways.
It had been one of his main challenges when he had first risen to the Lord of Winterfell and the conflict of the Rebellion had settled down.
"The Warden of the North should be raised in the North."
"I can't say my grandmother will be pleased, but I understand." The Lord of Highgarden sighed. "Perhaps your other son, Bran?"
"Bran is still too young." Eddard could not separate Catelyn from her youngest son. "Perhaps in the future, but I can't imagine you are willing to wait that long to bind ties."
"Of all the Great Houses, House Tyrell is the one must on the verge of replacement." Mace explained. "We do not have the blood of Kings, like the Starks, Baratheons, Lannisters, the Vale, or even Dorne. Nor are we in short supply of enemies. Many houses would love to see ours fall further so they may rise. House Tarly and Hightower, in particular."
"House Tarly fought as the staunchest Targaryen loyalists and are the Hightowers not your kin through marriage?" Lord Stark shook his head. "Robert may dislike your House, Lord Tyrell, but he would not replace them with one he loathes. And the Hightowers are your kin."
"I do not doubt the Hightowers' bond of kinship, but by the same token it would not be strange for them to take the opportunity to raise their House higher." The unspoken fact that most Southern Houses would do so remained exactly that, unspoken.
"So, you came in person to show your sincerity and hope for me to accept a fostering?" Eddard was shocked at how far the Tyrells were going for this. It seemed extreme.
"Needs must." Mace let out another sigh. "I might be somewhat of an oaf, but even I know when a man has made up his mind. We could still arrange a future fostering, but I suppose my House will need to find another way to bind ourselves to the Baratheons. Should the King not wish for his eldest to betroth our daughter, then Lord Renly has always been close to our family and is to be Lord Paramount of the Stormlands."
"Robert's youngest brother." Eddard mused as they walked back towards the front of the castle. "How is he? I remember him when he was but a lad."
"He has grown strong." Lord Tyrell smiled. "He is the one who knighted my youngest son, Loras. Despite our family's bad blood, he has grown to be a close friend and ally. Sadly, he alone cannot sway the King's opinions."
"I don't think anyone can change Robert's mind." The man was steadfast, in good ways and bad. "Not even Gods."
"You fill me with hope for my future, Lord Stark." Lord Tyrell groaned, before the two chuckled. He wouldn't say they were friendly, but he could understand the man who arrived now. One who cared for his family and understood his political inability and could defer and delegate to those better as the time came.
"Thank you for your candidness, Lord Tyrell." Eddard reached out a hand. "I will admit, I did not think Southerners beyond Robert were capable of it."
"Not even Lord Arryn?" Lord Tyrell shook his hand. The man's much meatier hand was cold so despite his attempt at professionalism, Eddard was sure he wanted to enter inside for the warmth of Winterfell.
"Lord Arryn was my foster father and an honorable man." He smiled, wryly. "But he was a man who knew the ways of court and has managed to be keep Robert in check. I love him, but he is also a capable liar when the need arises."
"If what we see in King's Landing is Robert in check, Gods help us all if he ever goes unchecked."
They continued to talk as they walked into the Training Yard, where he was surprised to see Garlan talking with Jon and Arya, Robb nowhere in sight.
"Arya?!" Eddard shot his youngest daughter a glare, who squeaked and hid poorly behind her brother. "You were supposed to be with Sansa, what are you doing here?"
"My apologies Lord Stark." Ser Garlan seemed bashful. "The girl bragged that she was quite the sword hand, so I allowed her to try a round against Robb."
"And where is Robb?" Jon looked queasy, Eddard noted.
"In the fight, Lady Arya kicked his shins and then struck his…" Garlan gestured, and Eddard felt himself shudder, Jon's queasiness made some sense now. "Your ward, Theon, took him to lay down for a while. None of us expected things to turn out that way."
"Arya?!" The girl continued to hide behind her brother's legs, unaware that her dress and some of her were still visible.
Giving her some kind of outlet would be necessary. It would encourage her to do her lady-like tasks as needed and hopefully avoid outbursts such as this. Perhaps horseback riding? It had been enough to get Lyanna to settle for a while, but Arya seemed far worse than his sister ever had been.
After some punishment after all. This kind of thing couldn't be rewarded, lest it make Arya believe that such actions would give her benefits.
"Your son and daughter are quite good fighters." Ser Garlan praised. "Have you considered squiring the boy? He has great talent; a guiding hand could allow it to blossom."
"So, the boy is not Robb?" Lord Tyrell seemed to have finally processed the conversation. "I thought Brandon was far younger?"
"My name is Jon Snow." The boy, his sister's son, spoke quietly. "I am Lord Stark's bastard son. I apologize for taking up your time and Ser Garlan there is no need to cover for me. I was giving Arya some sword fighting tips when Ser Garlan walked in on us. The blame is on me."
"Don't blame Jon!" Arya jumped out from behind him. "It was me, Father! Punish me! I'll sew with Stupid Sansa!"
Eddard contained his instinctive wince. Through the years, the boy had become sullen and kept more of a tight lid on his emotions. It exploded outwards on occasion, such as in the training yard or brawls with Theon, but he had taken the mantle of 'Bastard of Winterfell' and saw it as the sum of his being.
To make things worse, the boy was observant. He saw the shame in Eddard's eyes and thought it was in reference to him.
You have nothing to be ashamed about, Jon. My shame is my own. I am craven. I do not tell you who your mother is. Who your real father is. Of the kin beyond the Narrow Sea hunted down like deer in a hunt.All can be explained. But why can I not bring myself to even talk of your mother? Of Lyanna's feats and love if not in relation to you.
Because even after all these years, the pain felt as fresh as when he had made his vow and watched life fade from his sister's grey eyes.
Promise me, Ned!
"I won't punish Jon." Ned promised, before giving Arya a look. "You, however, will be. Since you so generously volunteered, return to Sansa and ask for a detailed explanation on the intricacies of embroidery. You are to be a perfect listener for the next three days."
"Three...days?" Arya cried.
Eddard could''t stop his laughs at the distraught expression on his daughter's face. Sansa enjoyed gloating over Arya when they embroidered, which would serve as punishment enough. He would also need to check in on Robb and make sure the lesson to never underestimate a smaller, less trained opponent.
"Lord Stark, may we speak for a moment. Regarding our topic earlier."
Eddard felt a migraine coming on as he nodded and led Lord Tyrell away to a more private location.
"No."
"I have yet to propose anything."
"There is no need." Eddard growled. "It is obvious. You want to offer to foster Jon, don't you?"
"It would be an excellent opportunity for everyone!" Mace seemed excited. "The boy looks so much like you, I am sure that Robert would have a soft spot for the boy! Besides, with his skill, your honor, and Garlan's teachings then a knighthood is an 'when' not an 'if', doubly so if the rumors about the boy's mother are true."
"Jon's home is in the North. In Winterfell!"
"The boy is a bastard, Lord Stark." The Fate Flower pointed out. "He won't be staying here forever. His prospects, even in the North, will be dim. Squiring under a Great House will give him some reputation and a knighthood could lead to greener pastures. Perhaps with time he could even earn a small keep, like the current Master of Coin's father did."
"Jon will always have a place in Winterfell." Eddard insisted. But at this point, he had no idea who he was trying to convince. It felt like the regular arguments he had with Benjen, who had always seemed to have seen through his lies regarding the boy's parentage. Jon was his favorite nephew as well, perhaps to counter Catelyn's cold reception of the boy.
God. Catelyn. She wouldn't take the offer well. Eddard knew she had Southerly ambitions for their children, and he hadn't known how to broach the topic of their most likely Northern betrothals and possible fostering. Having Jon go to Highgarden would likely make things worse.
The pity in the look that Lord Tyrell gave him almost made him boil over with anger. The worst part is that he knew exactly how delusional his words were.
But how could he protect Jon and keep his promise without him close? What if someone found out? If Jon was in the South, he couldn't call the banners and keep him safe in the cold, unforgiving North.
"What prospects will the boy have?" Lord Tyrell was trying to soothe him; Eddard would be offended if he didn't realize that this was indeed a golden opportunity. "To make him stay in Winterfell as a Master of Arms or other household staff would be cruel, always under the yolk of his trueborn siblings and never feeling their equal. Even close trueborn and bastards in history had some level of separation for that reason, to stop the ill feelings of birth from festering."
"Enough!" Eddard gripped his head and eventually let out a sigh. "I will think about it. After talking with my Lady Wife on the matter."
"Can I expect a raven within a moon?"
"…yes."
Lord Tyrell smiled.
"I will see you at the feast!" His chest seemed to rise, an incredible feat. "I am quite the feaster!"
"Of that, Lord Tyrell, I have little doubt." They shared a smile as the man left his solar, likely heading for the banquet table.
Eddard looked out the window, down into the training yard where Garlan gave tips to Jon. The words escaped him, from so far away, but he could see the smile on Jon's face.
Promise me, Ned!
How did he keep the promise to his sister?
In the North there was security, but the South offered a brighter future.
Damn Tyrells!
"I think you should take the offer." Catelyn eventually spoke. They had held a feast for Lord Tyrell, eating, drinking, and even dancing. A guest room had been provided for the Lord and his son to rest in so they could leave the following day to visit Oldtown and then Garlan's betrothed before heading back to Highgarden.
Eddard looked at her shocked.
"What?"
"You were expecting me to disagree?" Catelyn looked grimly amused. "I was irritated at first, certainly. But this is an opportunity for everyone involved. The boy. The Tyrells. And our family."
"What?"
"I do not like the boy." Catelyn stated it. It was a truth that Eddard had always known. He could hardly begrudge her for it, not when the true culprit was the lies, he had woven. "But I know that Robb, Bran, Arya, and even Sansa care for him. He would not betray them either. But his descendants? Even if Daemon Blackfyre had stayed loyal, who knows what his children might have done."
"You do not know if he would have children." Eddard pointed out, weakly. "He does not even visit-"
"He more than likely will." Catelyn waved away Eddard's words. "Even if he does not succumb to a whore or wanton woman, then he may fall in love with small folk girl or a minor lady and marry them."
"Your uncle-"
"The Blackfish is an exception amongst exceptions." His wife smirked at him. "This offer by the Tyrells provides everyone with what they want. The boy is given an opportunity to make a name for himself. If he becomes a knight, and with his skill he most likely will, he could earn a small keep or even a noble title in the South. His fostering would also lessen any unruly vassals of yours like the Boltons trying to replace our family, since he would be seen as 'Southern'. The Tyrells gain their chance at winning Robert's favor, in whatever way they can. And our family won't need to worry about the boy or his descendants. Perhaps they can even marry in, if an influx of Stark blood is needed."
"The South is not kind to bastards." He reminded her. "The Reach is also the heart of the Faith, which is not know for their tolerance for bastardry."
"Most of the treatment is when the bastard is in the presence of the trueborn or the slighted family in question." Catelyn snapped. "The Reach does not care for the Riverlands or the North in particular. The treatment will not be as good as in the North, but the boy will need to learn to learn the truth of the world he lives in. Sooner is better than latter. What else would he do here in the North?"
"There is always the Watch?" Eddard did not know why he continued to speak. He would not deny Jon a chance at happiness and despite what he always hoped, he knew the Watch was no longer what it once was. Benjen had went there a broken man looking for some form of self-punishment.
"If you love the boy, you will not ask him to go there." Benjen had said much the same. "And you do, that I know for sure. Why do you oppose this so much?"
"I want him close, Cat." He could not tell her the whole truth. It was his burden to bear. He had not even told Benjen. "He is the last thing left of…"
My sister. He could never say those words to anyone. Not even to Catelyn.
"I have tolerated the boy, Ned!" Catelyn growled, though her eyes teared up. "I have tolerated the fact that I was the woman you married for duty. That my children were born from duty while he was born from love. FromAshara Dayne!"
"DO NOT SPEAK THAT NAME!" Eddard exploded. The memories came unbidden.
He could remember the music at Harrenhal and the sense of peace and contentment as he danced with Ashara. The feeling of contentment and absolute happiness.
The message from Ashara, revealing the location of the Tower of Joy.
Bringing the body of her brother back to Starfall along with Dawn. The shame and regret as he had seen those sad eyes tear up further.
Their child. Stillborn. And a brother dead within a moon of one another.
Then the news came as he returned home. Ashara had flung herself into the sea and with her, his heart. Only the crying babe he held in his arm, one of the last bits of kin he had kept him going.
"So…it is true." Catelyn spoke quietly. "I always wondered but I suppose I was scared. I could pretend she was some whore. That it was a weakness of flesh. Not…love."
"Please." Eddard asked. Begged. "Do not speak of this."
"Does the boy even know?"
"Do not speak of this, I beg of you!" He had thought time healed wounds. But just as Robert had not forgiven the Tyrells, the loss of his first great love still burned. Perhaps it would never truly heal, merely scab.
"Let the boy go." Catelyn spoke, clearing her eyes. "If not for my sake and your children, then for him and forher. No mother wishes for their son to waste away in a place they can never truly belong to, Eddard. No mother dreams of their child at the Wall, with rapists and criminals."
"You are right Catelyn." She gave a tearful smile. It seemed hurt and pained, but what else could it be like after the words they had spoken?
"I tend to be, my husband." She walked away. "Leave me be for a while, we have traded harsh words and truths with one another. We both need some time."
He nodded. He had to speak with Jon about this.
"Catelyn."
She stopped at the door, not turning back but waiting.
"You were not my first love or my first choice." He admitted. He could not lie, not well enough. Not about this. So, he would speak from the heart. He had learned with Lord Tyrell that bluntness had its own charm. "But you will be my last."
"I feel the same, Ned." She turned her head and gave him a smile before walking away. Almost waddling as her belly showed the sign of another child. They had not begun in love, but it had grown.
Now, he just had to speak with Jon.
"You want me gone?" Eddard cursed himself. He had no gift for words, but he hadn't meant to bungle them up so badly.
"That is not what I meant." But it is what you said, effectively. Jon stared at him. Stoically as ever. The firebrand who he remembered in his youth had cooled down and if it wasn't for the occasional outburst or witty remark, he'd have thought the dragon that hid beneath the wolf extinguished.
"What about Arya?" Jon asked, his voice speeding up. In worry and fear. "Who is going to get her to go to her lessons or make her get along with Sansa?"
"Jon." Eddard looked amused. "Not even you have been able to get Arya to get along with Sansa or go to her lessons. She tricks you into teaching her sword-fighting and then pretends to do so for a while before acting out again to get your attention."
The boy turned red as he sheepishly twisted his foot.
"Did you not like learning from Ser Garlan?" Eddard asked. "You seemed quite pleased."
"It was fun." Jon admitted.
"Imagine how pleased Bran will be." He poked Jon in the chest, above the heart. "A Knight of the House Stark."
"What if they forget me?" Jon asked, quietly. "The new baby won't know me."
"They won't." He would not let them. Neither would Robb, Arya, or Bran. Sansa, he was unsure about. He hoped that she understood the bonds of family, deep down. She did. Of course, she did. She was a Stark and a Tully. The Pack survives andFamily, Duty, Honor.
"What do you say Jon?" Eddard asked. "You can be honest."
"I am scared." His nephew admitted. "How can a knight be scared."
"A man can only be courageous when they are afraid, Jon." He ruffled the boys hair. The slight scowl made him smile.
"I accept, Lord Stark." Eddard gave him a look. "Father. When do I leave for Highgarden?"
"In a moon, I will send a raven to Lord Tyrell." He smiled at his sister's last legacy. "We will want to spend as much time as possible with you, before you go on to become a wolf knight."
The boy raised himself higher.
"I was thinking I'd be a Weirwood Knight!"
The boy continued to nervously talk to him even as Eddard felt the past flowing in front of him all over again.
Please let this be a good decision. The vow I have held above all others must be kept. Not for honor, but for family.
The Tully's had the right to it, with their House words.
That night, Eddard dreamed of a Knight of the Laughing Tree. But when the helmet came off, it was his son.