Regardless of how much sense it made Ned knew it had been a bad idea to accept Robert's demand that he become Hand of the King.
As the middle Stark brother, Ned hadn't been trained with as much emphasis on leadership and ruling lessons as his brother Brandon. It wasn't out of any personal animosity by his father but out of a sense of practicality that all who grew up the children of a noble house had to either adapt to or fake well enough that others outside the family couldn't see. The eldest sons were trained in leadership with the expectation that they would rise to the role once it was passed to them. The middle and younger were expected to take the roles of warriors, stewards or loyal allies/liasons (wives in the case of the daughters) to those whose families they married into and their own original family.
There were exceptions to this sort of thing of course.
Lyanna of course was the first that inevitably sprang to his mind. Regardless of their fathers' attempts to connect the North more firmly to the South, she'd never wanted to be married to Robert: had believed him to be an inherently boorish man who would never truly love her the way he loved himself and his insatiable appetites. He'd been unable to lie to his sister when she asked him whether Robert had any bastards. And whether he'd willingly seen the girl Myra Stone after she'd been born. She hadn't even bothered to ask about his drinking, such was Robert's visible enjoyment of the spirits available at the tournament to anyone with eyes and a working brain. Much as Ned couldn't deny that his sister's worst supposing about Robert's habits were true he somehow wished he could've conveyed to her how Robert wasn't a bad man at heart, much as how their brother Brandon's sometimes rash temper and similar enjoyment of wines and women didn't make him a bad person.
Other times he wondered if he'd been given the same lessons on leadership and ruling that Brandon had whether he'd have been able to convince his sister of the merit to giving Robert a chance, at showing that he truly wanted to be happy with her and wouldn't have strayed once they married. Whether it would've meant Jon had grown to be the heir to Storm's End rather than a bastard with a worrying amount of talent in fire magic.
Though of course if Lyanna had been alive right now he'd have been more worried about her spitting nails and plotting to murder the queen in retaliation for the current mess of raw flesh that was Jon's back after being given Illyn Payne's tender care.
Following his being whipped forty times for striking the crown prince, Jon had barely managed to limp back to one of the guest rooms of Plowman's Keep with Arya and Lady by his side the whole way. Ned had been seething at the treatment of his bastard son even as the boy had carefully exposed his back to the burning torch in his chamber with only Ned, Arya and the direwolves to witness the skin carefully knit itself back together into a mess of scar tissue that was difficult to look at even as Jon reassured him that he would have full functionality even as he refused to rid himself of the ugly lines criss crossing his back as Ned knew he was capable of. Jon claimed it was so that none could become too suspicious of the full extent of his healing abilities. Though considering the only direwolf who had shown him any overt affection or come over close to him since they left Winterfell had been Lady, Ned suspected it was at least partially a self-inflicted form of penance for what he'd done to the direwolf matriarch he'd named Frost. It was a combination of that suspicion and the kind of thinking that Jon was showing more and more of that had Ned questioning the wisdom of continuing onto King's Landing even keeping in mind the talk between himself, his illegitimate nephew and his lady wife before they'd left for the capital. As he remained uncharacteristically silent in the face of Robert's awkward apology over the party's midday pause for food and rest, he'd given serious thought to taking his family straight back to Winterfell where they belonged, though he was forcibly reminded of the things that had been said in his solar when Jon had returned Bran to full health.
He remembered vividly how it had been so abrupt when Jon had returned in the darkest part of night from the Godswood with a conscious Bran and a deadened look in his eyes. When his lady wife had brought him to his solar, telling him that Jon needed to speak with them about Bran and his recovery, Ned had said a private prayer of thanks to the world that had been merciful enough to have a means for Bran to recover from his injuries.
Though of course he was a bit less thankful when he and Catelyn came close enough to hear Jon's voice murmuring in his study as though speaking to someone. As they'd entered, Jon's grey eyes were focused upon the crackling fire burning in the hearth. A sibilant whispering that sounded equal parts logs splintering under the heat and a caressing hiss that he might associate with a serpent dripping its poison into someone's ear emanated from it.
His uneasiness had only increased when Jon revealed as easily as you please that he had been speaking with his mystical father. Catelyn's unease was obvious in both expression and body though unsurprising considering she had refused to come near Jon by herself ever since he had confirmed his natural ability with unnatural forces and their effect on her second daughter. Though Ned supposed it was as much a commentary on the state of his lady wife's relationship with Jon from before all of this happened that it honestly didn't seem that different from the way she'd interacted with him previously; save that perhaps there was more fear of him than there was resentment.
Ned sometimes wondered what had happened to poison her so badly against Jon. He knew she had taken his lie about his nephew's parentage badly. But there had been a time when Jon had still been a helpless babe that he'd been struck by dragon pox and looked sure to die. When that had happened, his lady wife had helped care for him. Had stayed by his side for multiple nights until he was no longer in danger. And then, just as abruptly as she had shown her care of him, she had gone back to her icy loathing and quiet contempt.
Ned didn't dwell upon those thoughts, as he could never reach any satisfactory conclusion on the mystery no matter how often his mind circled it.
Ned asked Jon if the whispering he heard was the fire god. Cat had looked startled at the revelation that Ned could hear something even as Jon nodded his head evenly. Tilting his head slightly to the right, Jon asked with some curiosity whether her could hear what exactly R'hllor was saying. Before Ned could confess that he didn't, the whispering resumed and pulled Jon's attention back to the fire.
"Ah. That explains it." Was all Jon said when the whispering had abated.
"Explains what?" Came the sharp question from Catelyn, who was looking more lost by the moment.
Jon only answered that if Ned were to hear anything it would most likely come from the Old Gods because he was a believer of the Old Gods who was descended from other believers in the Old Gods. And while he may catch glimpses of the other world if its presence was strong enough, the only one he was in any way attuned to was the Weirwood faces and the Children who had been their caretakers for so long. Unsettled by the talk of divinity and the world of spirits that he'd never fully believed in, Ned had instead steered the topic to what he hoped was a simpler subject: what Jon had done to heal Bran.
He almost wished he hadn't asked when Jon explained that the Old Gods had plans in place for Bran. Plans they had not been willing to relinquish him from. Hearing about how Jon had bargained and pleaded with the Gods who were supposed to watch over his family to prevent Bran from being permanently crippled was enough to chill Ned's blood. Especially when Jon paused when he reached what had been done to seal the agreement between himself, R'hllor and the Old Gods.
"The world of the gods is not like the world of men Lord Stark." He said quietly. "When they strike a good faith bargain, they cannot simply turn their back upon it. The belief and the sacrifice of their followers is what gives them power. Without that strength of will from men they cannot live. And so, they literally live or die by the strength of their oaths that bind them to the world men reside in."
Catelyn had objected at this, saying the Seven did not work the same as the Old Gods or Jon's patron Red God.
"Do you imagine the oaths of faithful service knights take are meant to be mere formalities to the Seven Lady Stark?" He asked in turn. "What do you believe the rituals the Book of the Seven holds for marriage, testimony and fealty to be? The prayers, the methods of worship, the services conducted by the Septons and Septas are their way of accumulating many smaller sacrifices. Sacrifices of time. Of memory. Of symbolic and literal prostration before them. Simply because they do not offer visible power in turn does not make what they ask of others any less."
Catelyn had gained an edge of panic to her expression as he said this, as though questioning whether the Seven would be angry with the life she had lived here in one of the three kingdoms that did not ascribe to their belief system.
"When you make a promise to the gods, you must be willing to make a sacrifice in return. And for the sacrifice to mean anything to the gods…" He paused as he bowed his head forward, dark hair shadowing his expression from them for a moment.
"It must first mean something to you." He finished in a whisper.
Ned allowed the silence to linger in the air.
"What…" He almost couldn't bear to finish the question. But he had to. As Lord of Winterfell and as Bran's father, he had to know what he was dealing with.
"What sacrifice was made?" He asked.
Jon did not answer for a time. As his eyes met Ned's again, he drew and exhaled shakily.
"I asked that he be healed. They demanded his greensight be strengthened. The sacrifice that fulfilled both purposes was…was Frost." He finished almost inaudibly.
From there, Jon had told them that Bran's memory and thought process was likely to be jumbled for a short but indeterminable time now that his gift had been strengthened. He had suggested that in place of keeping the entire royal party here on the slim chance that Bran recovered his memory before the person or persons responsible for his injury heard of his miraculous recovery and tried to silence him that they instead make for King's Landing with all haste while hiding Bran within Luwin's sleeping chambers.
Ned thought it a testament to how rattling the conversation about the intricacies of otherworldly matters was to Cat that his wife could barely bring herself to object to the planned deception even as it lent an urgency to Ned's need to investigate the possibility of sinister involvement in Jon Arryn's death.
All of this following so quickly on the heels of Benjen bringing him news of the wildlings massing beyond the wall and a lone survivor of a massacred patrol babbling about ice creatures and dead men who spoke of winter coming, not to mention Jon confiding in private that the survivor was likely telling the truth; it was enough to drive Ned to drink were he that kind of man. But instead he did as he knew he must: square his shoulders, take a deep breath and solider forward while praying for the best.
As they came upon King's Landing, Ned's uneasiness grew as he remembered that here in the capital the greatest otherworldly influence was his wife's Seven gods. The single weirwood in the garden of the Red Keep had long been considered a token decoration that didn't even have a face: leaving it blind and unseeing as a dead man. The only other sort of foreign priest he'd ever heard spoken of was Thoros of Myr and he was more often than not Robert's drinking competition rather than any kind of spiritual guide.
They'd not separated the Stark portion of the train from the royal portion until they entered the Red Keep through the main gate and split their parties so that the King's people could return to their duties in the keep and the Stark train could set up their quarters in the Tower of the Hand. Ned didn't think it exaggeration to say that even though the city itself and the Red Keep too were quite the sprawling sights that the awe they might've felt was almost completely offset and dampened by the fact that the overwhelming stench of human waste permeated every inch of the city air. It had been so bad that many of the royal train had said nothing as they drew near to the city while almost all the Stark retainers had begun discussing among one another why it smelled so much like something had messily shit itself before dying in a pool of that very same filth.
No great surprise considering that the capital had never been built with a population of near 500,000 in mind. The slums far and away outnumbered the grand buildings such as the Red Keep or the Sept of Baelor or even the homes of the nobility. Even so it would be good to get off the road and at last sleep in a private bed away from potentially prying ears.
As he disembarked from his horse, Ned was greeted by a messenger bearing the livery of the king.
"My lord." He greeted with a short formal bow before standing up again.
"The small council has been gathered and has sent word for you."
Ned nearly groaned aloud at the words. Not even cleaned from the dust and filth of the road and already he was forced to play politics. He dismounted his horse and asked the obvious question.
"Could this not have waited?"
"Apologies my lord." The messenger said. "But the small council has insisted that the needs of the kingdom must be tended to by the new hand as soon as possible."
Ned came less than an inch from growling out of sheer frustration. Yet he knew the messenger (and the small council by extension) had a point. The realm came first.
He handed his reins to Jory, instructing him to get his family settled in the tower of the hand while he took care of this.
"Do you not wish to change my lord?" The messenger asked, voice unsure as if he didn't know whether he should be saying such out loud. Ned merely pulled off his riding gloves in response, intending to go straight to the small council meeting as asked.
Perhaps a bit petty, but he would take what petty victories he could if this was any indication as to what his time in the capital was to be.
As he came through the throne room he encountered Jaime Lannister. The golden haired kingsguard had been standing quietly by the throne, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Ned had thought to simply walk past him without having to interact with the overly full of himself man.
But alas it was not to be.
"Ah. Lord Stark." He greeted in a cordial tone, brightly mocking smile already up.
"Good to see you here. It's about time we had some stern northern justice brought to bear."
Ned still intended to ignore him as he moved toward the chamber of the small council with an acknowledging grunt.
"I was here when Aerys killed them you know." He continued.
Ned stiffened almost imperceptibly as the Lannister swordsman began talking about the execution of his brother and father.
"He struggled mightily your brother. He truly was determined to reach your father. Probably didn't help that the only sounds he could hear were the screams and Aery's mad laugh." He said.
Ned couldn't stop himself from answering now.
"And all the time you stood there watching." He finished, accusation leaking through.
Lannister's eyes and smile dimmed a fraction as he looked at the iron throne.
"We stood there watching." He corrected.
"You seem to be laboring under the mistaken impression that I was the only witness to the king's brutality against your family Lord Stark. Arthur Dayne, Barristan Selmy, Gerrold Hightower. All the kingsguard was present in case we had to guard him from the dangerous prisoners he was to sentence. There was many an additional courier and minor noble who turned out to see the king's justice done too. Fully counted, I believe there was over five hundred witnesses to the end of your brother and father. And beside the Mad King's cackling and your father's cries of agony, this room was silent as a tomb."
Ned had no answer to that. He did not like to think how it was possible that so many had allowed the Mad King to kill so barbarically. That it had come so far as civil war because so many supposedly good people had stood by and done nothing.
"And when my sword tasted the Mad King's blood, I remembered their faces." Lannister told him, his expression lighter now; as if he was convinced Ned could see what he was talking about. "The faces of those who'd all suffered because of him. And it felt like justice."
"What a world you must live in where a sword in the back is considered justice Ser Jaime." Ned remarked.
The Lannister kingsguard took a few steps closer to Ned so that they were both beneath the steps leading up to the iron throne, its myriad melted together blades casting a chaotic shadow in the noontime light of the stained-glass windows.
"I suppose if I'd stabbed him in the belly you'd think me more honorable then?" He asked facetiously.
Ned took one step closer to Ser Jaime and looked him dead in the eye so the younger man could see him fully. He wanted him to understand his position with no mistakes and no posturing.
"I think when serving the Mad King was safe, you served the crown." Ned said.
"I think when your father proved it would be safer serving him, you served your father." He continued.
"And now I am forced to wonder how well you'll serve King Robert, if serving him no longer proves safe enough for your tastes." He concluded, turning on his heel to walk towards the small council chamber.
"Perhaps you should ask Ser Barristan that question. He saw the merit in the King's safety before I did." Came the parting shot behind him.
Ned pushed the doors open with a loud creek, determined to put the Kingslayer's words out of his mind. As he beheld the members of the small council, he couldn't help the lingering gaze he cast upon Ser Barristan Selmy (who was present to represent the Kingsguard) and wonder at the small part of himself that shamefully agreed with Ser Jaime's last remark. But he couldn't dwell upon it. He had to trust somebody in this godsforsaken city. And if not a man like Ser Barristan, then who?
A/N: Extremely embarrassed it took this long for the chapter? Yes. Attempting to write this damn thing driving me to the point of distraction? Yes. Releasing the chapter on my sole day off as promised? Yes. Hopefully the next chapter won't be nearly as much of a pain in my tuckus. -Mx4