Eddard II
''You cannot let him do this, Stark,'' Ser Arthur said, incredulous.
''It is his wish, ser, though I share your concern,'' Ned replied. ''A dream fit for a green boy who does not yet grasp all that the black cloak demands.''
''You would indulge him still? I'll have none of it. I'll speak to hi—''
''Peace, ser.'' Ned's tone was sharp as steel. ''He is not yet come of age, and Mormont shall heed my counsel. He will not don the Night's Watch cloak. By the time you return, I shall have found another course.''
They had spoken of this but once before—when the boy was yet a babe in swaddling clothes. Neither man had relished discussing it anew. In the early days, it had seemed simple: raise him now, settle his future later, once he was grown. But that future loomed suddenly before them, and neither was prepared.
Ned sighed. ''You know as well as I that you cannot give him what you desire, Arthur.''
''You will not even try,'' Ser Arthur hissed.
Ned slammed his palm upon the desk, his voice cool and measured despite the blow. ''You are right. I will not. Gladly would I lay down my own life for him, without hesitation. But I shall not imperil my family nor the North for a fool's venture.''
Arthur's eyes, violet and proud, still defied him. It had been long indeed since they stood at such odds. How can he be so blind, so bent on this path suddenly?
''You have naught to prove his claim; no one would believe it.'' Ned said.
''Dorne wou—'' Ser Arthur began.
''Prince Doran will not so much as lift a finger,'' Ned cut him off, ''for one who is not kin. As for the Reach, they shall fight for whomever they believe most likely to win. We would be all alone, I doubt even my bannermen would rise for such a cause. Enough of this!''
For a spell, Arthur held his tongue. Then he spoke words that froze the blood in Ned's veins. ''I could write to the Usurper myself... force your hand.''
Ned rose from his seat, rage flooding hot and sudden. ''You are blinded, ser, for the love of your dead prince.'' he growled. ''You would not only bind my hand, buthis. You would hurl him toward a fate that offers only death—his and ours. And you do not even know if that is the fate he desires.''
Arthur lingered, then sighed. He turned and opened the door to depart. ''Neither do you, Stark.''
''Keep him safe, Dayne. And when you both return, I shall grant him the choice between a holdfast and a black cloak. But if I hear so much as another whisper of using him for your schemes, I shall take your head myself.''
Eddard Stark awoke to the sounds of crows squawking outside, welcoming the morning as he could feel Catelyn's head on his chest and her arm wrapped around his front.
''Good morrow, husband.'' Catelyn purred.
''Good morrow, Cat.'' Eddard replied, smiling softly.
They lingered there a time, entwined as one beneath the covers, though he could not help but worry for Jon, likely riding beyond the Wall in search of his lost uncle. Perils lurked aplenty in those frozen wastes—wildling tribes, shadowcats, and snow bears roamed freely.
Lately, Ned had come to rue allowing Jon Snow to depart at all, most of all after receiving that raven from the capital, announcing Lord Renly's death. The boy had been so set upon following in Benjen's footsteps, and all Ned had wished was for Jon to glimpse the whole truth of it—the grim as well as the glorious—before binding himself to a life he might soon regret. Yet now Ned found himself asking whether he ought to have been stricter, keeping Jon in Winterfell against his will, even if the lad would curse him for it till his dying day.
He was far removed from the capital, yet thoughts of Renly and the king also crowded his mind. Once Robert learnt the truth about who had been responsible for Renly's demise, not a corner of the realm would be safe for them from his wrath. I should just as likely expect a summons to war as a summons to serve as Master of Laws.
Neither prospect pleased him. He had ridden to war twice already, once to unseat the Targaryens and once to subdue the Krakens. Should the realm be plunged into conflict yet again, his sons would not be spared. Robb was old enough to ride at his side, and young Bran might be pressed into service as a squire for one of the northern lords. Both were but boys, too young to face the horrors of a battlefield. The thought of a raven from the south filled him with more dread than ever before.
He had never doubted his father's desire to weave the North more tightly into the fabric of the Seven Kingdoms, but the older he grew, the more he understood the wariness of his ancestors. Had not House Stark nearly been swept away altogether when Lord Rickard played at kings and queens with dragons, stags, and lions? Ned would not sacrifice his children on that same altar. He would not sacrifice Jon. Would Rickard Stark wave Jon around as a southern political pawn, like he did Brandon and Lyanna?
When he rose from bed, he noted that his wife had drifted back to sleep. Quietly, he dressed and slipped from the room, heading for the kitchens in search of breakfast. A servant brought him his morning fare as he joined Ser Rodrik, Hallis Mollen, and Tomard at the table. There he was served a strip of bacon, two sausages, a helping of blood pudding, and half a loaf of bread still warm from the oven.
''Good morrow, my lord.'' Ser Rodrik said with a warm smile.
''Ser Rodrik.'' Ned greeted, ''How fare Robb and Theon with their swordplay? Are you getting through to them?''
''Aye, my lord,'' Ser Rodrik replied. ''Robb's coming along well. Your bastard, Jon, has always wielded a blade with a natural ease. He has set a high standard, which Robb is keen to reach. As for Theon, he's yet some ways to go, but he's better by far with a bow. I promise you, we'll make warriors out of them yet.''
He paused to drain his dark ale; his plate was already picked clean. ''Have you heard aught from my nephew, Jory?'' he enquired, pulling at his whiskers.
''I have not heard anything from Jory, but I've instructed Maester Luwin to bring you any news regarding the ranging as well. Your son is strong and a good soldier. He'll be fine.''
''Thank you, my lord. He is my blood, it is only natural for me to worry; I'm sure you'd agree.''
''Aye.'' Eddard replied, stuffing his mouth with a sausage.
Ser Rodrik next turned to Hallis and Tomard, bidding them to call the men to assemble in the courtyard. They bow to Ned and depart, while Rodrik finished off his ale and met the lord's eye once more.
''Your son Bran has asked if he might begin sparring with blunt steel, my lord. I told him I would seek your leave.''
Ned considered. ''I trust your judgement, Ser. If you deem him ready, then so be it.''
Ser Rodrik nodded, then rose and bowed, leaving the kitchens behind. Ned settled back to finish his morning meal. Just as he was done, Maester Luwin appeared at his side. His face was grave, and he bore a small scroll in hand. Dark wings, dark words...
''A raven arrived this morning, my Lord,'' Luwin said quietly. ''From King's Landing.''
He seized the scroll, noting the red wax seal and the crowned stag of House Baratheon impressed upon it. A dark unease settled in his breast as he broke the seal.
Then he read the words within, and as he finished, he could feel the blood draining from his face. Maester Luwin lingered at his side, yet Ned scarcely heard him or the clamour of Winterfell's courtyard. A queer, high-pitched sound filled his ears as he let the scroll fall away.
Jon Snow—who even now rode beyond the Wall—was henceforth to be Jon Stark, Lord of Dragonstone. I cannot allow this, Ned thought grimly. I will not.
The shrill ringing in his head ceased only when he felt Luwin's hand upon his shoulder. ''My lord?'' the maester said, concern plain in his voice.
Ned drew a slow breath. ''His Grace has chosen the next lord of Dragonstone,'' he said at last, his voice unsteady.
''Who is honoured so?''
''Jon Snow.''
Maester Luwin made no reply, merely reaching for the fallen parchment. Ned's mind was already racing ahead. He would write immediately to his foster father, to King Robert himself, and refuse this command. Let the king rage; Ned Stark would not yield. Jon would be cast among courtiers and schemers who had bled for House Targaryen. Velaryon and Celtigar. Such folk would hail him with honeyed tongues to his face while sharpening their knives behind his back. Already Renly Baratheon had met a brutal, untimely end, and now the crown wished to ensnare Jon in the same deadly game. Ned would not suffer it. He would protect him from every scheme, King Robert or Ser Arthur.
''Perhaps this is for the best.'' Luwin's words were like a punch in the face, leaving him dazed. How is this good? Noticing his lord's troubled visage, Luwin swiftly continued, ''You enquired before what might be done for the boy, that he felt without purpose. What greater purpose could he find than this? 'Tis a great honour, one bestowed only upon a few bastards in our history.''
Eddard Stark sighed deeply. Maester Luwin made a compelling argument. Eddard himself had deeply considered setting him up to rule Moat Cailin, or mayhaps the Gift. Yet Dragonstone... that path was fraught with peril. The proximity to the capital rendered it too dangerous; Jon would not be serving under Eddard but rather under Robert Baratheon, under the crown itself.
''Not a word of this to anyone, not even my wife. This is something I must think about, and if I'm to accept this, then I'll tell her and the children myself.''
''Of course, my lord.'' Luwin bowed and was soon out of his sight.
He took the note and walked to his room. Once he arrived at his desk, he put the note inside a drawer that was on his worktable. He needed to think, so by instinct his feet were dragging him to the godswood.
The godswood with hundreds of trees, fresh, cold air, and a huge weirwood tree in the middle of the grove.
As he made his way to the heart tree, he truly did not know what to do. He could defy this decree; though Robert sat upon the Iron Throne, Ned hoped his voice still held sway, as that of Jon Arryn, his foster father. Arthur would seethe with anger, but that mattered little. He knew not what was best for him; he was blinded... by old alligences. Jon... You truly don't deserve any of this, but I have to protect you, even if it means that you will forever curse me.
With Ice in his clasp and a swatch of oiled leather, Ned noticed a crow sitting by one of the huge stones some feet away from the heart tree, staring at him and strangely not making a sound. He sat in the middle of the grove; his back was against the heart tree as Ned proceeded to clean the sword with the oiled leather. The greatsword Ice was Valyrian steel, spell-forged and dark as smoke with deep rippling. As wide across as a man's hand and taller than any of his and Catelyn's children. The sword has been passed down from generation to generation, going as far back as a hundred years or so before Aegon the Conqueror. When House Stark still ruled as Kings of Winter.
As Eddard Stark snapped out of his reminiscing, he noticed disturbingly that he was not in the godswood anymore, nor did he have Ice with him. It was dark, as far as his grey eyes could see. The weirwood tree that he had been resting on being the only thing he saw of familiarity. He rose and walked to try and see if there was anything behind him and the heart tree. But nothing was there, only a never-ending darkness. When he turned around again, he was startled.
His father, Lord Rickard; his mother, Lyarra; and his siblings, Brandon, Lyanna, and Benjen, stood in solemn procession, their gazes piercing his very soul with impassive stares. Each face was unnaturally pallid, eyes devoid of colour, black where white should dwell. Behind them marched men he did not recognise, clad in the colours of House Stark, some adorned with bronze crowns tipped with black steel spikes. At the forefront stood Jon Snow, crimson tears tracing silent paths down his expressionless face. It appeared as though the crypts of Winterfell had been awakened, a thousand eyes as dark as a cold winter night fixed upon him, stirring a deep unease within his heart.
Suddenly, a crow with three eyes took flight, landing upon Jon Snow's head. The bird nestled amidst his dark brown, wolf-like hair, its squawk echoing ominously in the surrounding darkness.
''By the Old Gods...'' Ned Stark whispered, shuddering.
He did not have time to make any more sense of the sight in front of him though, as all of them soon started to walk towards him. By instinct, Eddard drew himself back, tripping on one of the roots from the weirwood tree and falling backwards. Yet his back felt no impact as he descended; instead, he continued to fall through an endless void.
''Promise me, Ned,'' his sister's voice resonated through the darkness as he plummeted, Ned's own scream stifled within his throat.
At last, Ned Stark landed upon the ground with an eerie silence, untouched by the pain he had expected after such a prolonged fall. He rose to his feet, surveying his surroundings with widening eyes. He saw a huge door in front of him but did not recognise the place.
''Father, I'm afraid!'' He turned around and found Jon Snow, a little smaller than the last time he saw him. He looked as he did five years ago.
''Do not let him take me!'' Jon continued, tears falling down his eyes.
''Jon?'' Ned asked.
The door all of a sudden burst open, and he saw Robert Baratheon and Tywin Lannister walking towards him. Robert and Tywin's faces were amused, smirking as their blue and green eyes met Ned's grey ones.
''Ned! Of all the people, I would not expect you to be the one to commit treason.'' The king said.
Eddard Stark's face turned snowy, his throat as dry as Old Nan's. Robert's words made Ned's heart beat a thousand times faster. So fast that he could hear it. ''Wha-...''
''You were the brother I chose, Ned. How could you do this?''
''You..-, what?'' Ned managed; he felt as if he was about to pass out. He had not felt this fearful as when the enemy charged him on the Trident.
In a fleeting moment, Jon Snow vanished from his side and reapered in front of him, next to King Robert and the Old Lion. Before Ned stood Gregor Clegane's immense hand, constricting Jon's neck and throat with brutal strength. The boy gazed up at him with wide, terror-filled eyes, his small chest heaving as panic consumed him.
''Don't touch him!'' Ned roared, fury flashing in his eyes as his teeth bared. He marched towards them but was suddenly restrained by two guards, appearing like shadows from behind him. He tried to fight them, but their grip was tight.
''Your family's lives are forfiet; I'm sure you understand.'' Tywin Lannister said with hidden amusement. ''Roose Bolton shall inherit Winterfell and the North in your stead. As for you, you shall spend your remaining days in the oubliette.''
''Father..?'' Jon Snow asked fearfully, making Eddard feel a single tear falling from his left eye. He fought even harder to set himself free from the two ghosts restraining him.
''But for your sake and the friendship we once cherished, I'll kill the boy quickly.'' Robert added.
''NO!'' Ned Stark howled.
He managed to overcome the guards and started to run towards Jon. But Gregor Clegane was faster, tightening his grip so hard that Jon's little head burst open. A sea of crimson overflowing the room and his eyes. Then he started to fall again.
''We wolves take care of our own; we fight for our own.'' Brandon's voice echoed through his descent. When he landed again, he found himself at a familiar place in Dorne. The Tower of Joy still stood strong compared to the last time he was here, when he, Howland, and Arthur had tore down its foundations.
He saw his sister Lyanna, weeping heavily on the steps towards the tower. Steeling himself, he began to approach her. Yet, as Lyanna's eyes met his, she lunged at him with sudden ferocity, causing him to stumble and fall backward. His sister was on top of him as his back hit the sand; she was clawing at his eyes, screaming. Beside her emerged Brandon as he began stabbing him at his sides. He did not see his father until he had a rope around his neck, strangling him. His vision blurred, and soon he only saw darkness.
Then he opened his eyes again, and he was in the godswood once more, Ice, and the oiled leather beside him to his right and left. He bolted up to his feet. gasping as he realised it had been but a harrowing dream. Gradually, his breaths steadied as peace reclaimed his senses.
Across the small pond behind the stones, he noticed one of the direwolves. Grey Wind... He thought as he met the wolves golden eyes, they had come across the direwolves when they had been in the Wolfswood some moons ago. Direwolves had not graced the lands south of the Wall since well before the Conquest, a fact Robb had lauded as a blessing from the Old Gods, and Ned could not help but agree as he and the wolf stared at each other. He picked up Ice and the oiled leather and made his way towards his solar. He knew what he had to do; he had made up his mind then.
As he sat inside his solar, he read through the scroll he had received once more. A knock on the door followed, and he did not have time to reply before wild little Arya opened the door and ran to take one of the three chairs that had been placed in front of him and his desk. Robb came not so soon after, as well as Bran, Sansa, and at last Catelyn. Robb let his younger siblings take the chairs while he and Cat stood behind them. Ned took a good, hard look at all of them before he sighed.
''You summoned us, Father,'' Robb said in his 'lord voice' that he had begun to learn.
''Is it about Benjen? Have they found him?'' Bran asked excitedly.
He said nothing, deciding instead to open the drawer close to his left on his side of the desk and take the scroll. ''I received a raven today from King's Landing.''
Catelyn's expression shifted; she no doubt presumed the scroll was a summons to the capital. ''From the king?'' she asked.
''Aye, I have not yet shared this with you, children. But Renly Baratheon is dead; he was murdered.''
Robb's face hardened with resolve; Sansa's features clouded with anxiety, while Bran and Arya maintained their indifferent expression. It was to be expected. They were still young.
''Are you going to war?'' Arya demanded.
''Have you called the banners?'' Robb added
''Will I serve as a squire for someone? Will I see battle?'' Bran asked excitedly.
Sweet summer children. Ned mused silently. ''Peace, children. There will be no war.'' His children quickly calmed, staring at him intently.
''His Grace's younger brother, Stannis, has now inherited Storm's End, leaving Dragonstone without a lord. King Robert has sent us a message declaring who is to receive this honour.''
Catelyn frowned, her eyes—those Tully blue eyes that only Arya had not inherited—shifting from readiness to contemplation.
''Your brother, Jon. By His Grace's command, he has been legitimised and is to be granted Dragonstone.''
It took a while, but eventually, their true emotions began to surface. Catelyn's expression darkened, while Arya seemed to explode with delight. Robb's eyes widened, but not soon after did his lips curl into a genuine smile. Sansa remained tense, casting worried glances toward her mother. While Bran was strangely downcast.
''Does this mean he won't join the Night's Watch?'' Arya asked, practically thrilled.
''It is his choice, yet he must return to us unharmed. Had the raven arrived sooner, I would not have permitted his departure.'' Ned replied solemnly. I should have never allowed so; why did I permit his departure?
''Now, children, I need a few moments with my wife alone.''
Without hesitation, Arya darted from the room; Robb followed closely behind, his laughter ringing out at his sister's antics. Bran seemed on the verge of speaking but remained silent, choosing instead to exit the chamber. Sansa was last to leave, her uncertainty lingering in her hesitant steps.
Catelyn watched them depart with a mixture of concern and contemplation, and once the door closed, she began, her voice edged with desperation. ''You cannot allow this, Ned. I know that you trust him and that you love him. And the boy loves his siblings; I know in my heart that he would not harm any of them. But if he is to have children, Robb's claim will b—''
''Sit.'' Ned interrupted her firmly. She seemed taken aback by his resolve. Although somewhat irritated that he did not let her finish, she sat down on one of the chairs.
Eddard Stark cast a lingering gaze upon his wife, drawing a deep breath as he endeavoured to steady his tumultuous thoughts. They had been man and wife for almost fifteen years now, and he has had true love for her in thirteen of those years. Catelyn had professed her love countless times, her unwavering dedication to him, their children, and House Stark evident in every gesture and word.
'Family, Duty, Honour' those are the words of House Tully.''Family are the first of those words, my love. Duty and honour come second and third,''Cat had once told him.
But Ned found himself doubting it all once this very moment arrived; he would put all his eggs in this basket now, and he would find out soon enough what Catelyn is—a wolf or a trout. Gods forgive me.
Unbeknownst to the both of them, a crow flew and landed on one of the opened windows inside Eddard Stark's solar, watching both of them intently.
''What I am about to divulge,'' Ned started. ''It must remain within these walls. Do you understand?''