Sorry about the delay on this, it's been a busy few weeks, plus my cousin got married.

Ned

Robert seemed to be more sad than angry now. Sad – and bitter. He was wandering vaguely about the room, glaring at objects and occasionally poking at them with a large finger. When he knocked over a jar of roses that Cat had placed to one side in an effort to make the place… smell nice perhaps… Ned directed a glare of his own at him, which made his old friend flush with embarrassment and mutter an apology, before slumping into a chair and brooding.

This was a bad thing, as Robert could brood with the best of them. "Stop it."

"…what? What was that Ned?" Robert seemed startled.

"Stop brooding."

"…wasn't brooding. I was thinking."

"About what?"

There was a strained silence. "Family," Robert all but whispered eventually. "How important it is. When I lost my parents to that storm in Shipbreaker's Bay… I wonder what else I lost? Did Father know about the catacombs? What might he have known? And what else did he fail to pass on? I'm closer now to Stannis than any time for years, but how'd I let things get that bad? Why didn't I spot that Cersei hated me so much? Have I been an idiot? Stupid? Or just… arrogant? Jon Arryn taught us both how to fight and how to rule. My parents would have told me how to love and how to live. I saw you and your family this morning and I envied you. Your Cat loves you and your children adore you. What do I have? This morning I had an heir, a spare and a daughter. Right now I have nothing."

"Rubbish," Ned said brusquely. "You've got friends and you've got family. You've got three children of your blood, who heard that sword."

"Aye," he replied with a sigh. "And all three of them are bastards. Seven Hells, only Edric's mother is a noble. This is going to make a right mess of things. My only legal heir is Stannis. There'll be those that claim that Stannis's heir is Renly and not Shireen! A right mess this is."

"You have the power to legitimise bastards," Ned said carefully. "As you did for me."

Robert pulled a face. "Gendry's the eldest boy. But he's a blacksmith and his mother worked in a tavern, the Gods rest her soul. The only noble blood there is from me, unless his mother was a bastard herself of some Lord – we'll never know. Edric's mother is a Florent. So he's noble enough, but in the blink of an eye I'd annoy the Tyrells and suddenly get covered in bloody Florents. That said, people would accept Edric. The problem is that he's just a boy and I need my heir to be older. This war that's coming for the Wall, it's going to be hard and it's going to be bloody – and I don't know if I'm going to live long enough to see Edric grow up enough to fight with me. Gendry – he's the right age, but he's got no noble blood, so if I make him my heir he'll have to fight twice as hard against a bunch of stuck-up hoity-toities."

Ned stared at him. That was… quite a good summation. "Hoity-toities?"

"Stuck up bastards. The kind of nobles who don't lead or do a damn thing for their people, but just think that it's enough to be a bloody noble and get all offended when what they think is a commoner gets the castle next to theirs. That smuggler who got those onions into Storm's End – Ser Davos Seaworth. He's a good example of a commoner getting a step up. Man's worth ten, no, a hundred of some of the nobles I've met over the years. But I've heard the sneers at court. The Onion Knight they call him, before making fun of his accent. We put Seaworth in charge of the Goldcloaks after we found out that their main officers were in Baelish's pocket and by all the Gods he's done a good job with them. He's worth a thousand of those fops in court." He paused. "Gods, I'm meandering aren't I?"

Ned found himself smiling slightly. "You've had a busy day Robert."

"My point is that I might just have to legitimise them all. I need to talk to Jon Arryn about this, but I need a son. I need someone that the Realm can see as my heir in this war that's coming. Someone to stand by me on the Wall and who can wield Stormbreaker if I fall. We need as many Baratheons as we can get. Can't fail on this Ned. You know the stakes as much as I do. Edric's too young right now. It might have to be Gendry. I don't know yet. I'll send a raven summoning Jon." Robert looked at him gravely. "Is this the point where you tell me I'm a fool and to declare Stannis my heir?"

He paused and thought about it all carefully. "Gendry's not hoity-toity." Then he shook his head. "This is the North. We don't do fops – idiots who think that being a noble means sitting on your arse will get killed right quick up here. Winter is always coming and here we start planning for each winter the moment that spring starts. There's no room for idiots here. No, whoever you choose we'll follow you. The Lords of the North have heard of both your sons here. Edric is popular because there's no side to him at all – he treats everyone the same, no false pride there. As for Gendry, he's already Gendry Strongarm, the blacksmith son of the King. People like him too. They're you're your sons. Whoever you pick we'll still follow you."

Robert looked at him and there were tears in his eyes for a moment. "Thank you Ned," he sighed. "I wish I could count on more men like you. Loyal friends. Not like the Lannisters."

"Not all the Lannisters are like the ones in the cells here, or their father. Gerion Lannister helped save my son's lives. Tyrion Lannister has been a good friend to us all. Clever and committed. Braver than most people think. He might even end up as family – he's fond of my cousin, Lady Dacey Surestone. He'd better treat her right."

"Torgen Surestone. I remember that man. Gods, he was a terror on that horse of his at the Trident. Scared even me more for a moment. A good man. Can't believe he's dead." He shook his head. "Aye, there might be a few Lannisters we can trust. It'll be hard though."

"I know," Ned sighed. "But we-" He was interrupted by hurried boots in the corridor, muttered words and the door flying open to reveal Ser Barristan Selmy, Tyrion Lannister and, much to Ned's surprise, Robb, with Grey Wind at his side. He stood at once, his eyes searching their faces. Trouble. "What's wrong?"

"Your Grace, we have grave news," Ser Barristan gasped, clearly out of breath, and dread roiled through Ned.

"Oh Gods," Robert groaned. "Alright – who killed the Kingslayer?"

"What?" Tyrion gasped. "No, your Grace, my brother still… still lives. Gods, my legs were not made for this… or my lungs… No, it was what he… said."

Robb, who looked fresher, glanced at the others. "Father, your Grace, I was talking to Jaime Lannister, trying to understand why a man like him would do what he did, when he confessed to something."

Robert came to his feet, his eyes suddenly shrewd. "What?"

"The real reason why he killed Aerys Targaryen," Ser Barristan said.

Confusion flashed through him, but it was Robert who voiced what he was thinking. "What? He killed the whoreson on orders from his father, surely?"

"No, your Grace," Tyrion said firmly. "He did not. He said that he did it to save the city."

"What?" Ned asked, baffled. "To save the city? King's Landing? From what?"

"Your Grace, he pointed out something that I have always wondered about – why did Aerys Targaryen appoint Rossart, the chief pyromancer, as his last Hand of the King? And then he claimed that the then King ordered the pyromancers to create a huge amount of wildfire to be used on your approaching army."

Ned flinched – but then frowned. "No wildfire was ever used against us!"

"No, but he said that Aerys planned for it to be used on you. That he had the pyromancers bury caches of wildfire under all the gates, under the Great Sept, the Dragonpit and the Red Keep. That Aerys planned to use it to kill you and your army and the whole city and then somehow become a dragon himself via some alchemy of his madness."

There was a long silence – and then Ned felt all the blood drain from his face. "Truly?"

"Truly," Ser Barristan said grimly. "I always wondered why Aerys had appointed that giggling lunatic as Hand. He was an odd man, always talking about 'The Substance' as if it was alive. If any man would have gone along with such a mad plan, it was him. Jaime Lannister said that when his father's army arrived Aerys suspended his plan – but then when Tywin Lannister turned on him and started to sack the city, he told him to bring him his father's head – and then told Rossart to ignite the caches. Instead Jaime Lannister cut down Rossart, before killing Aerys."

By the Old Gods… "If it's true then a great many people owe him their lives," Ned said hoarsely. Then he frowned. "But why did you run here to tell us this?"

"If it's true, aye," Robert objected. "But I never heard of any wildfire being taken out from under the Red Keep!"

"Because my idiot brother never told anyone about the wildfire," Tyrion Lannister said through gritted teeth. "He thought that as long as it was buried and forgotten about, it would degrade – weaken and wither. But he was wrong. Wildfire left to mature in darkness strengthens with age. And becomes less stable! More easily ignited! A beam of sunlight might set it off, a thump, a shake, vibration!"

This time the silence was longer. "Do you mean to say," Robert said eventually, "That every time I have seated my arse on that damn chair there has been a cache of wildfire beneath it somewhere?"

"Aye," the three at the door chorused.

"My brother said that the pyromancers brewed a lake of the wretched stuff," Tyrion said hoarsely. "Your Grace, we must send a raven to King's Landing at once, telling them to search most carefully. My brother believes this wildfire tale. It explains everything I always wondered about the death of the last Targaryen King."

"Not a raven," Robert said with a sigh, "Ravens. Five at least, this is too important for just one. And two to White Harbour, with messages to send to King's Landing by ship." He rubbed his face with both hands. "Damn it. This changes a few things. But it doesn't change one thing. I have to tell my children that I am not their father." He glanced at Ned. "Fetch your Maester. We have messages to send. And then I have to visit my 'children'."

Sandor

Gods, what a mess this was. He knew the implications of that sword clanking – or chiming as some had heard it – at once. The Bitch-Queen of Westeros had not just been fucking her own brother but very likely had been fucking other men who were not her husband for a long time. Long enough to mean that the Royal Children were not royal at all.

His high and mightiness in Casterley Rock was not going to like this one bit. Not that he minded that one bit. Fuck Tywin Lannister.

No, the problem was that Prince Brat did not realise what had happened earlier that day and was still ranting about Father needed to punish the bastards for lying to him and that perhaps he should take it on himself to order his dog to punish them instead. He eyed the boy balefully as he stalked about the room, still fuming. Well, too bad. Laying a hand against the King's actual children, rather than his supposed children, would be a fast way to get Stormbreaker acquainted with his neck. He wasn't a fool.

"Your father, his Grace the King, sent you to this room and told you to stay in this room," he finally ground out. "Stay in this room. I'll be outside. I'll be guarding this bloody room."

"Now listen, dog," the brat snarled. "I want you to find that upstart blacksmith and-"

"I'll do nothing to him. The King likes him. If I harm a hair on his head then the King will want to know why and who ordered me to. And I'll have no choice but to tell him. You want the King angry with you?"

That shut the brat up. He glared at him and then waved a hand in dismissal.

As Sandor retreated outside and closed the door he wondered just why whatever gods might exist were punishing him so badly. His burns were bad enough, but first he'd been the sworn sword of that Blonde Bitch and then the Brat. There were times when there wasn't enough ale in the world to drown his bitterness.

What next after this? A bastard, even a Hill, would not need a sworn sword. What would Old Tywin do? He frowned for a moment. Who was the father? Was it that smug fucker the Kingslayer? He pulled a face and then decided that he didn't care. Jaime Lannister was an entitled smirking bastard and some time in a cell might just do him some good.

Boots thumped in the corridor and he looked up to see Selmy – a grim-faced Selmy, with the eyes of a man who was truly dangerous – came into view, with the bulk of the King behind him. Now there was a man who was beyond dangerous. He'd changed.

Selmy nodded at him and Sandor opened the door for the King, who glowered at him suspiciously for a moment before nodding slightly at him. "In," he said grimly. "I need people to witness this."

In he went, in time to see the Brat stand hurriedly and then stare at the King. "Father? What in the Seven Hells is going on? First Mother is in her room and now all this nonsense with your bastards and-"

"Joffrey, sit down," the King said in what Sandor suspected was the softest voice that he could manage. "I need to talk to you."

The Brat scowled, wiped the look off his face at the sight of his father and then sat sulkily on the nearest chair. The King sat down on the sturdiest chair he could lay his hand on and then sat there, looking intensely uncomfortable for a long moment. "Joffrey," he started, and that stopped as he scowled at the fireplace. Then he started again. "Joffrey…" Again he stopped.

The Brat was staring at his 'father' with a lot of confusion on his face. "Is everything alright Father?"

The King scowled at his own feet and then rallied, looking at the Brat full in the face. "You were asking about your mother. She's under arrest. It's treason, lad."

This baffled the Brat, who just stared at the King. "What do you mean, 'treason'? Mother's the Queen. Queens can't commit treason."

The King's eyes took on that flinty look that meant that he was reining in his temper a bit. "They can when they betray their King. Their husband. Joffrey, your mother betrayed me. She was… she was discovered having… relations… with another man." The King's face was a bit flushed and the flinty look was positively stony by now.

The Brat still looked baffled, but shock was starting to creep in a bit. "What?" The word was spat out in a confused and almost frightened voice. "But… she wouldn't do that."

"She did."

"….says who?"

"There were witnesses. Lord Stark for one."

It was here that the Brat looked contemptuous. "Stark? But Mother says that he's nothing more than a Northern oaf, and-"

The King stood up so abruptly that the chair flew back and the Brat actually cringed. "Ned Stark is no oaf, Joffrey. Be very careful when you speak of him."

The Brat gulped. "But… but Father, Mother would never-"

"She did." The King pulled a face as he sat down again. "With her own twin brother."

Revulsion rippled over the Brat's face. "Father, that's disgusting! What a stupid accusation! Mother would never do… that with Uncle Jaime!"

"She did," the King said flatly. "They were seen by Lord Stark, Lord Baratheon and Ser Barristan Selmy. In full sight. There can be no denying it. Which is why I am here. Joffrey, we don't yet know how long that… your mother has been betraying me. What I do know though is that you didn't hear the sword."

The Brat stared at him, baffled. "That sword again? Father, all your bastards lied. Lied to your face! And you need to punish them! Swords don't chime!"

"I heard it chime." The King said the words heavily. "So did Stannis and Shireen. The sword is tied to those with the blood of Durran Godsgrief. And that's the problem."

"What problem?" The Brat was still baffled and by all the gods was he stupid as well. "I'm your son but I didn't hear any chime!"

The King blinked and then tilted his head a little as he peered at the Brat. "Gods," he muttered, "This is going to be harder than I thought." He scratched the back of his head and then tried again. "Joffrey, those with the blood of Durran Godsgrief heard the sword chime. You, your brother and your sister did not hear it. You all have gold hair and green eyes. You don't resemble me at all. In any way. Do you see what I mean now?"

The Brat blinked at this – and then he went white with shock as the King's words finally sank in. "No… no, Father. I am your son. I am your heir. I am a prince of the realm! I will be King after you. I might take after Mother's line, but I am still your son!"

"You are not my son. I am sorry, but given how much you look like a Lannister, your real father might well be… the man your mother was caught with." The King looked tired and strained. "There is nothing of me in you. I am sorry, lad. I am not good at this, I've never been one for words, but you did not hear the sword."

"NO!" Joffrey leapt to his feet, his eyes wide and his face contorted with what might be panic with a bit of fury. "I am your son. I am a prince! Sound the sword again, I will hear it chime! I wasn't sitting in the right place, I did not take it seriously, sound it again!"

"You did not hear it the first time," the King muttered. "It's no use lad. Now, I'll need to talk to your Grandfather. Not sure if that makes you a Hill or a Waters, given who your father might be but-"

"Sound the sword again!" The Brat looked almost demented now. "I am a prince! Sound the sword again!"

"No, ask him to hold it." Sandor was surprised with himself – the words slipped out of his mouth without much thought.

Everyone stared at him in surprise and he shrugged a little. "He tried to pick it up in your cabin before White Harbour your Grace. It burned his hand and threw him across the room. 'False' was the word I heard in my head."

The King stared at the Brat, his eyes narrowing. "Is that true, boy? Did you try to hold Stormbreaker?"

The Brat put his gloved hands behind his back. "No," he quavered, before sending a look of utter hatred at Sandor, who didn't give a damn. He'd been hired to protect the Prince and the Brat was now a bastard. "I did not try and hold it."

The King squinted at him. "Gods, you're a terrible liar boy. I noticed that you've been wearing gloves a lot. Let me see your hand."

The white-faced Brat shook his head for a moment and then, as the King glowered at him, he finally pulled his shaking hands into view, before slipping the gloves off. At a gesture from the King he showed his palms – and the burn line that crossed the right one. The King stared at it. And then he gestured to Selmy, who was carrying that bloody sword. "Ser Barristan, you can carry it, but Joffrey cannot. Why?"

The old man frowned slightly as he stepped up next to the King. "I am merely the swordbearer, your Grace, as my forefathers were to yours. I have no claim on this sword, I would never dare to call it mine. I know little of such things, but I would hazard that that falsely claiming to be worthy enough to bear it might results in… repercussions."

Sandor thought about this. "You mean, if I tried to steal it, it might bite me as well?"

The old Kingsguard eyed him, before nodding. "Aye."

"I wasn't trying to steal it! It will be mine one day! I am your son, Father! I am a prince! I will be King!" The Brat looked half-deranged again.

The King frowned at the Brat for a moment – and then he reached out, took the sword from Selmy and then held it out hilt-first to the Brat. "Then take it. If you claim to be my son, prove it. Take the sword."

There was a long moment of utter silence as the Brat stood there and quivered like a leaf, his eyes fixed on the hilt. He was as white as a sheet, almost green, and he seemed to be thinking furiously. And then he slowly raised his right hand and reached out to place it over pommel, before gulping. "I am Joffrey Baratheon and this sword will one day be mine!"

The Brat's fingers curled around the pommel and there was a long moment of nothing – and then the sword seemed to flare with light. "FALSE!" boomed a voice that seemed to come from nowhere – and then the Brat was flying backwards, just as he had on the ship. He landed on a table, which just about survived the impact and jerked backwards. Once again there was the slight smell of charred flesh in the air, along with something else.

"Fetch the Maester," the King sighed as he stood up. "And get the boy some new underwear, it smells like he'll need it." He looked at the Brat, who was clutching at his hand, and his face hardened. "Well, that's that. Joffrey Hill it is. Clegane, guard him. Stop him from doing anything stupid."

Sandor stared at the groaning brat. Easier said than done.

Tyrion

He felt… numb. There was every chance that Jaime was going to die. It was treason. Worse, it was stupid treason. He loved his brother, but Jaime had been a complete imbecile. And now everything was… numb. The name of Lannister had plunged to new depths and all his plans were now in ruins.

It had been nice to dream, just for a while. To imagine that he might be a valued part of the nobility, even just for a while, as they planned this war that was going to happen. He could imagine him doing some research and perhaps advising the King about some history. And perhaps, just perhaps asking Ned Stark about… no. That door had closed. They'd never allow it now.

He wandered down the corridor tiredly. A positive blizzard of ravens had flown off and they had to wait for some to come in before any more could go out. They wouldn't know the truth about the wildfire for weeks though. It took time for ravens to get to and from King's Landing. That said, he knew that Jaime had told the truth. Or at least that he believed that he had told the truth.

A closed door brought him to a halt and he looked up and then blinked. Of course. His feet had brought him to the library. Where else? He pushed the door open and wandered in with a sigh – before stopping. There were voices to one side. He waddled wearily over and then peered around a bookshelf. As he had thought. Dacey was sitting there with Shireen next to her, both engrossed in some books. He stared at the former sadly. Well. Ned Stark would never agree to any request to marry his cousin now.

He sighed slightly but walked towards them anyway. He might as well take the opportunity to wring a few last precious moments out of life. As he approached they both looked up. "Hello Tyrion," Dacey said quietly. "Shireen was looking for a good book on the Durrandons."

"I want to know a bit more about them," Shireen nodded. "As I'm descended from them and I really want to know how I can hear Stormbreaker chime whilst others hear it clank."

Tyrion stared at her and then swapped a glance with Dacey, who looked as baffled as he felt, before she asked the obvious question: "Shireen, what was that about Stormbreaker?"

"Uncle Robert called Father and all his children into the same room. Then he hit Stormbreaker with a hammer and told them all – his children that is – to write down what they heard. And then the funny thing was – funny as in odd that is, not amusing – was that all his, erm, natural children heard it chime, the same as Father and I, whilst all his so-called legal children just heard a clank. Father said that he'll explain it all later, but there's no need, I know what it meant. His children are sort of swapped over."

Tyrion closed his eyes for a moment as his heart sank a little further into his boots. Joffrey… well the boy was a monster, he didn't care what happened to him. But Tommen and Myrcella…

When he opened his eyes he caught the gaze of Dacey, who nodded at him sadly. "I'm sure that Ned will do his best to make sure that the children will be taken care of, Tyrion."

He nodded back. Well. Time to hold his head up and try and show some dignity. "I agree, Lady Surestone. Given the… recent circumstances, I realise that House Lannister is not exactly in good standing at the moment, at least in the Royal Court. There is every chance that I will soon be sent back to Casterley Rock. I would like to thank you for your friendship and your kindness."

Dacey and Shireen just stared at him for a long moment, before looking at each other. "Dacey, he's being noble," Shireen said after a moment. "And silly."

"Yes," said Dacey in a steely voice, "He is. Shireen, is this book enough, or do you need more?"

The girl looked owlishly at the books, picked up two of them, nodded and then trotted off. Dacey watched her go and then folded her hands in her lap and gazed at him seriously. "Tyrion, what are you doing?"

Hoping not to say goodbye to you, he thought. Instead he said: "My brother and sister are traitors to the realm. They were found red-handed in their treason. The stink of this will spread far and wide and I do not think that anyone will-"

She cut him off with a raised hand. "Tyrion, did you help them in that treason?"

"No!"

"Did you know about it?"

"Well, I suspected that they were doing something stupid, but I never dreamt that they were being that stupid."

"Would you have approved?"

"Never!"

"Did you fight with Robb and Jon at the Nightfort?"

"Well, yes, or at least I was there when they fought. I threw a knife at a man I think."

"Did you fight with them beyond the Wall, against Wights and Others?"

"Yes."

"Has anyone placed you in a cell?"

"No."

"Have any of your family, other than your siblings, been placed in a cell or asked to leave?"

"Well… no. I'd forgotten Tyrek was here. And Lancel. Haven't even seen either of them."

Dacey stood up and walked over to him. "You are ten times cleverer than your brother, you have a thousand times your sister's heart – she made fun of my name when we met – and none of her vileness, you have fought side by side with House Stark, you saved me at the Inn from that whoreson. Tyrion, you do not need to leave, or withdraw yourself, or hold yourself apart in any way. Now, I have had a word with Ned and he is expecting you to talk with him at some point."

Something stirred in his heart. It was either astonishment or hope, he wasn't sure which one. "About what?"

"About you asking Ned for my hand in marriage. There will be a lot to arrange." And with that she kissed him on the cheek. "Not sure about the beard. You will need to be taken in hand on a few things." A smile that made his heart stop for an instant came his way and then she swept out.

He put his hand to the spot on his cheek where she had kissed him. All of a sudden the world was a different place.

"Right," he muttered, his thoughts dancing on new heights, "I need to go and shout that confession out of Jaime."

Cat

She found Ned, naturally, in the Godswood. He was sitting there staring at the Heart Tree, the Fist on the ground at his feet and his face a mystery, lost in the shadow cast by a tree from the setting sun.

"Are you well my love?" She asked the question quietly and only after looking about the place to make sure that they were alone.

"It's been a very long day," Ned sighed. "And I was just thinking about my father and what I did to avenge him. Him and Brandon. And Lyanna. The cost as well. If what Jaime Lannister said is true, I very nearly joined Father in death by wildfire."

"I heard the news from Luwin, told to him by Robb," she said faintly, her stomach still roiling with horror. "Do you believe him?"

There was a long silence as Ned brooded over that question. "Yes," he said eventually. "It fits with what I remember of that madman. When I saw him at Harrenhall… I remember how horrifying his appearance was. Those nails, those eyes, his cackles… and his insane shrieks. It fits the facts – why else would he have appointed that pyromancer to be his Hand?"

She sat down next him, a little more heavily than she had intended. "You might have died."

"But I did not," he said, reassuringly. "Come now Cat – I made it back to you. You and Robb."

She thought about things for a moment and then smiled slightly. "To think that you owe your life – and that of your men! – to Jaime Lannister!"

A slight chuckle erupted from her husband. "I know," he muttered. "The Old Gods have a sense of humour, so they not?"

She smiled and leant against him, drawing inspiration from his quiet strength. "What will become of him?"

"I don't know." Ned said the words slowly. "He is guilty of treason, and Stannis wants his head on a spike, but he admits that while that is the law, there is a certain amount of… difficulty in this case because of Tywin Lannister's importance. We need the Westerlands in this war that is coming. That said, Jaime Lannister must be punished for what he has done. If I was Robert… well, the Wall needs men more now than it ever has before."

"You would send him to the Night's Watch?"

Ned shrugged. "He's a vain, smug, dissembling, whoreson, who in that future that will never come to pass might have thrown Bran from the Old Keep for seeing something that he should not have. But he's also a fine swordsman. I would have him swear his oath on the Fist of Winter here in the Godswood. If he breaks such an oath, then what happened to Bootle will happen to him."

She remembered that moment, the crash, the flash of light and the moment that the wretched man had been hurled backwards, quite dead. She'd known that he was dead almost instantly, feeling it in her heart. "We need to tell him that then."

"Aye." Ned stood and helped her up, before picking up the Fist and attaching it to his belt. "There's a lot to be done, even now. Robert will need to see the Wall, Tywin Lannister will have to be dealt with…" He sighed, offered his arm to her, which she took, linking her own in his, and then escorted her out of the Godswood and across the courtyard. "There's a lot to do, as I said. Arya and Bran have done well though."

She was about to smile wryly and tell him about how she had done her best to keep an open mind there, when she heard the sound of hurrying feet. It was Luwin, who was holding up a piece of paper. "My Lord… the last raven of the day… brought this. You should… read it at once." He handed it over and then stood there panting.

Ned opened it and held it up to his eyes in the dying light. "Ah," he said, a bit too calmly for her liking. "Tywin Lannister is headed to Winterfell. He's coming to ascertain the truth of the Call. Well. That should be interesting."

"How many people is he bringing?" Cat asked, as she thought about dealing with yet more guests. At least the Royal Party had brought coin with them and today's hunt had restocked their larders twice over.

"He did not say. But knowing Tywin Lannister, there will be a fair few people. I think I should tell His Grace at once."

"He was last seen by the Great Keep, with another log," Luwin pointed out.

Ned nodded. "The years have rolled off of him. To see him training with a log… it brought back such memories of growing up." He nodded at Luwin, who pattered off in the direction of the library, and then Ned and Cat walked towards the Great Keep, through the gathering darkness.

As they approached it however Cat could see that someone had lit candles in the little Sept that Ned had had built for her so many years ago, and where she worshiped the Seven every morning.

"Ned, is there someone in the Sept?"

Her husband squinted at it and nodded, looking surprised. "Someone is in there. I wonder who?"

"Do you think it's the King?"

Ned shrugged. "He never was very religious. Let us check though."

As they approached they could see a figure within it. Cat looked at Ned questioningly. It was Ser Barristan Selmy. The old Whitecloak was kneeling before the statue of the Warrior, looking strained. After a while he looked up and then seemed to sense them both, turning slightly. "Lord and Lady Stark. Your pardon, I felt the need for guidance."

"You have no need to apologise, Ser Barristan," Ned rumbled. "I myself have just come from the Godswood. We all need guidance at times."

"I felt a most particular need for it today," Ser Barristan sighed. "To have witnessed such a betrayal by one of my sworn brothers… And now I have been commanded by His Grace the King to rebuild the Kingsguard. I have a great task in front of me and I cannot fail in this. I fear that the Kingsguard has fallen mightily in recent years – indeed for some time now. The rot started in the time of Aerys Targaryen."

"You are too hard on yourself, Ser Barristan," Ned objected.

"You are too kind, Lord Stark, but no. We started to fall many years ago, it just took time for the rot to show. I saved the then King at Duskendale, but I soon realised that it might have been better had I failed. Aerys's madness was a stark and terrible one."

He looked at Ned and a look of pain crossed his face. "I was there, at the Red Keep, when your father and brother died. I remember that terrible day so very vividly. Aerys murdered them both. And I and the other members of the Kingsguard who were there… We said nothing. Not a word. I was a coward that day, we all were. We did not want to be added to the flames. I often think of that day. I should have said something, done something, to stop it. But I dared not. His madness was too great by that point, the smallest thing would set him off. And he loved wildfire. That, if nothing else, tells me that he – the prisoner – was telling the truth about the caches in Kings Landing.

"Ser Gerold Hightower once said that we guarded the King, we did not judge him." He shook his head. "No. We should have said something. Counselled him that what he was doing was madness."

"Then you would have died, Ser Barristan," Ned sighed. "He was too mad to hear of anything that went against his wishes. The only way to stop him by then was with the sword. And even then, replacing Aerys would only have meant that Rhaegar would have taken the throne."

"Aye, and I do not know if he might not have gone mad himself," Ser Barristan frowned. "I knew him – or at least I thought I did. I once thought that he would make a good king. Now, hearing about this wildfire plot of his father's… I wonder. I wonder about many things. Why he abducted your sister for one. In the last year of his life he was… different. Rhaegar was increasingly obsessed with prophecy. At the end, one specific prophecy. The Prophecy of Ice and Fire. And then, right at the end, the day before he died…

"He went to the Isle of Faces in the God's Eye in the days before that battle. He went alone, despite my objections. When he came back he was… different. Resigned. He said that he had met the Green Man and that he had been told something about his fate. And then he gave me and my sworn brothers at the Trident orders that placed us all away from him at the start of the battle. During the battle I saw him half-fighting and half-searching. I think that he sought out the then Lord Baratheon. That does not sound like the man I thought I knew. Was he mad or sane at the end?"

Cat looked at Ser Barristan Selmy carefully. The man looked and sounded strained. "Are you well Ser Barristan?"

The old man looked at her sadly. "I have to restore the Kingsguard my Lady. I am not entirely sure how I can do that. How can I remake it so that the Kingsguard is not a place to drop creatures like Boros Blount? But at the same time, how can I ensure that we have no Crispin Coles? And how can I find men who are willing to kill their king if their king tries to order the death of an entire city like King's Landing? How is it that men like Jaime Lannister can be both right and wrong? Gods, this is the task for men like Ser Duncan the Tall. And he is long dead. All I have is myself."

Gods, no wonder he had sought the guidance of the Warrior. Ned must have thought the same thing, because he shook his head. "I wish you every success on your quest, Ser Barristan." He glanced at Cat, who caught the message instantly.

"We will leave you to your devotions, Ser Barristan," she said, nodding respectfully to him. "I hope you find the answers that you seek."

"My thanks, my Lady, my Lord. I hope that I do too." And with that the old man knelt before the Warrior again. Perhaps a prayer to the Father might help as well.