Eddard III

Eddard Stark and Catelyn Tully were huddling close together for warmth as an unusual cold in the air that Ned would not expect until autumn was seeping inside the castle of Winterfell. They were watching their children play around in the courtyard from the bridge between the armoury and the Great Keep. Sansa, Beth, and Jeyne cheered on as Arya and Bran fought with wooden swords. Ser Rodrik oversaw it, with Robb and Theon laughing next to him.

''I am Cregan Stark! The Wolf of the North!'' Ned could hear Bran howl as he lifted up his wooden sword to the sky.

''I am Nymeria of the Rhoyne! The Princess of Dorne!'' As she jumped on him, Arya howled back. Laughter and giggles from the crowd followed, making Ned's lips curve.

''Have you given the King your answer yet?'' Catelyn asked as she leaned into his chest.

''No.'' Ned answered quietly, the smile he had on his face vanishing in an instant. He paused, running a hand through his dark hair, and turned to face Catelyn. ''I can't leave Winterfell, Cat. Not now, with the news from the Wall and the threat of Mance Rayder looming over us. The North needs its Warden, not some display of southern politics.''

''I understand, husband. Truly, I do. But King Robert wrote to you personally, in his own writing. You know how rare that is, and he didn't just ask about your attendance, did he?'' Catelyn replied, her tone gentle but firm.

No, he didn't. He had been putting off answering Robert ever since he had gotten that raven. Many northern houses had written to Winterfell and expressed interest in attending, but they had not answered the Iron Throne out of respect for their liege lord. Time was running out, though, and the king needed an answer. The tourney was one thing, but the betrothal was another thing entirely. Robert's letter was long, but the thing that made him apprehensive was the proposal of a betrothal between Sansa and the crown prince Joffrey.

''Robert is not just any man or your friend. He's the king. A personal invitation by his own hand is not just a request—it's a command. To refuse him could be seen as a slight, even a betrayal, especially with how you and Robert ended it with each other last. We cannot afford to alienate ourselves, not with the realm as it is.''

''I swore an oath to protect the North,'' Ned said firmly, more to himself than to Catelyn. ''To be its Warden, its shield.''

''And you will, Ned,'' Catelyn said softly, moving to stand in front of him. ''But you also have a duty to the realm, to the King, and to your family. And this betrothal could secure Sansa's future and our place in the realm. We need King Robert's favour now more than ever, especially with the threats we face. And if you don't attend this tourney, if we shun him, Robert could see it as an act of rebellion against the crown. We cannot afford that risk.''

Ned snorted. ''Robert will be mad and scream with fury, I am sure. But after a couple drinks, he will have forgotten it. I know him.'' Do I know him? Said the voice only he could hear, betraying his resolve. Ned was not as sure anymore; he had not seen Robert since the Greyjoy Rebellion. ''They were dragonspawn...'' His memory recalled what Robert said after the Siege of Pyke. There were some discussions between Robert and Ned after the victory about what to do with Balon Greyjoy and his remaining heirs, a discussion that eventually spiralled out of control when Ned brought up the fate of the Targaryen children and asked if Robert had the same thing in mind for Lord Balon's children. He regretted that now, but the incident had forever haunted Ned—the dishonourable way Robert had secured his throne.

''Robb and I will stay here with Rickon. Robb is old enough to shoulder some of the responsibility, and I'll be here to guide him with Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik. Winterfell and the North will be safe in our hands. But you must go to Harrenhal, Ned. Take Sansa, Arya, and Bran. Let them see the world beyond the North, and let Sansa be seen as the future queen.'' Catelyn continued, making him sigh. He knew his wife to be an ambitious woman, but there was wisdom and truth to her words. Winter is coming, and this winter will be long. According to Maester Luwin, we will need the south. And he was sure that Sansa would never stop talking about it if she found out about it. A part of him cursed himself for even telling his wife about it and not burning the letter.

''I will think on it, Cat.'' Ned said this after some silence. Catelyn did not answer him but moved a hand to tuck some hair behind his ear.

''Any news from The Wall?'' She asked carefully.

''No.'' Ned answered, his face darkening. Catelyn replied with a sweet kiss. Ned welcomed the kiss; their tongues were battling in a dance, making him forget everything for a few sweet moments. The cat then pulled away and smiled sweetly.

''I'm sure that they're fine, my love.'' Catelyn could not know, though; it had been almost a month since they received the urgent raven from Castle Black. Lord Commander Mormont and Jory Cassel had been attacked and overrun at the Fist of the First Men, presumably by Mance Rayder. The death toll was unknown, but Mance Rayder had an army of a hundred thousand, if words are to be believed. The odds of them surviving seemed impossible, and Ned Stark had been worried ever since, the weight on his heart. And it will only get worse. The day may come when I will have no choice but to call the banners and ride north to deal with this King beyond the Wall for good and all. He had not told their children yet; he did not want them to worry until the outcome of the confrontation was properly established. He would have to tell them soon, though; words can spread quickly from castle to castle. Eddard Stark had received a raven from Castle Cerwyn only the day before, offering their condolences. A week before that, it was from House Umber, promising to avenge his son and brother by bringing the head of Mance Rayder. And a fortnight ago, from Deepwood Motte and Bear Island. Ser Rodrik Cassel knew but seemed to handle it well, Ned thought. He had not given up hope. Ned was thankful for that.

Ned let go of Catelyn as they heard footsteps approaching, the warmth she provided vanishing and being replaced by the cold summer winds seeping through the window. Ned turned and saw Harwin, one of the members of his household guard. ''Lord Stark, a rider has arrived from King's Landing. He claims to have received a message from Stannis Baratheon.''

''Lord Stannis?'' Ned asked with a frown. Harwin responded with a nod, while Catelyn's face turned to one of worry.

When Eddard reached his solar, he found the Baratheon man already there, having been escorted on his orders there by two Stark guards. The Baratheon man wasted no time, reaching out his arm with a letter in hand.

''M'lord, I have been ordered by Lord Stannis to bring this letter to you.'' He said it carefully and well. Ned found it strange that Stannis would send a rider so far. A raven would have sufficed, yet he sent a rider? He took the letter.

''I thank you. Alyn, see to it that he is fed, and give him a fresh horse. It's a long ride back to King's Landing.''

''Yes, m'lord.'' Alyn obeyed. The Baratheon man smiled, bowed, and gave his thanks before he was escorted away. Ned turned to Harwin; the guard was standing vigilantly behind him. ''Harwin, tell Maester Luwin that he is to make the raven's ready. I have letters to write, and no one is to bother me. Understood?'' Ned commanded firmly.

''As you command.'' Harwin answered. Ned nodded to the man before entering his room.

He took his seat inside his solar, the fire that was burning brightly in the hearth casting shadows over the granite walls. The letter from Stannis Baratheon lay sealed in his hands, its potential contents pulling his gaze away from the comforting warmth the fire provided. He winds, dark thought grimly. He broke the seal and started reading the letter. His grey eyes traced the ink letters, his brow furrowing with each line.

Lord Eddard Stark

It has come to my attention that King Robert is considering appointing you as the new Master of Laws. Though the matter is not yet decided, I urge you to consider accepting this appointment should the opportunity arise. The realm is troubled.

While I cannot speak plainly, even in this letter, I must confess that I fear the king's safety and the stability of his reign. There are forces at play, whisperings of plots, and shadows moving within the very heart of the Red Keep. Forces that I am now confident had something to do with the tragedy that befell my brother Renly.

Also, consider your son, Jon Stark. I suggest you bring him to me. I believe he could benefit greatly from tutelage under me. With my guidance, he could receive the education needed for his trials ahead as the Lord of Dragonstone. The skills he would acquire from me would be essential for his future, and perhaps even for the realm's future.

Reflect deeply on my words, Lord Stark.

Lord Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End, and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.

The notion of becoming a Master of Laws was unsettling to him—the thought of being pulled into the political web he had so long avoided. Yet Stannis' hint at the dangers surrounding the King was not something he could ignore lightly. The safety of Robert, his oldest friend, gnawed at his conscience. He had suspected the Tyrell's when The Knight of Flowers visited Winterfell, but when a raven brought the news of a confession from the murderer who had done the deed, he let all those thoughts go. A weight from his shoulder that had vanished that very instant, he had dropped the scroll to the table that was right in front of him now.

But Stannis very clearly thought differently on the matter, and Stannis was a hard man with a strong sense of duty and justice. The words that he brought in writing made all that uncertainty he felt moons ago come back, a heavy weight seeping inside him once again like water infiltrating the walls of a stone castle.

Ned's mind drifted to Jon, making his heart ache. Lord Baratheon had advised him before to let Stannis himself or Lord Wyman Manderly educate the boy. And Ned had already sent a raven to White Harbour, asking them to take him. Lord Wyman had responded, saying that House Manderly would gladly welcome the honour of preparing his son for his duties as a southern ord. But Lord Stannis seemed a lot more insistent this time. The stern, unyielding nature of Stannis might mould Jon in ways White Harbour could not. Ned did not yet know the fate of Jon, though, and Ned was hopeful on that matter, even if the North seemed not. Then why do I keep thinking of her?

Eddard folded the letter slowly, his mind a storm of conflicting emotions. He placed the letter on the table and found himself staring into the running grey direwolf that hung on the walls inside the solar. Winter is coming, he thought grimly, and with it, decisions that could no longer be delayed. Robert, his old friend, the man with whom he had fought in two wars and shared countless battles and hardships, was in danger. The implications were grave, and the potential for hidden enemies in King's Landing was deeply troubling. His eyes traced away from the Stark banner to the empty parchment laying on his table. He suppressed a sigh. Catelyn was right; he knew then. The King was in danger, and his friend was in danger. He could not, in good conscience, ignore Stannis' plea; he would have to find out more at the tourney. He carefully grabbed the quill from the tiny ink bottle and began to write.

As the day passed, the ancient castle, the Great Hall of Winterfell, was alive with the sounds of evening. The warm glow of the hearts cast flickering shadows on the stone walls, and the long table was laden with the simple, hearty fare of the North. Eddard Stark sat at the head of the table, his eyes glancing over his family as they shared the evening meal. Robb was recounting his latest sparring match against Theon Greyjoy, while Arya and Bran listened with eye-wide fascination. Catelyn was cradling Rickon, and Sansa was gracefully eating her meal. Ned turned to look at his wife; blue eventually met grey, and Ned needed only to do a miniscule nod for Cat to instantly know what he was about to do. She rose from her seat to give Rickon to an old maid, mumbling an order that she quickly obeyed. Ned cleared his throat, gaining the table's attention. His children's faces turned towards him, curiosity mingling in their eyes.

They won't be children forever. He thought as he put on a serious face. ''Some time ago, a raven arrived from Castle Black. I thought it best not to tell any of you its content until I received further verification. But you all have the right to know.'' Ned began, his voice steady but edged with gravity. The children gazed at him, curiosity and concern mingling in their eyes. ''It came from Maester Aemon of Castle Black.''

Ned could feel the shift in the room's atmosphere as he saw the children's reactions. He took a breath, steeling himself. ''The Lord Commander and Jory Cassel were at the Fist of the First Men. An ancient ringfort deep beyond the wall. They were attacked, ambushed by wildlings.''

He watched as the weight of his words fell. Robb's expression darkened, while Bran's eyes welled up. Arya's hands clenched around her spoon, with her eyes widened. Sansa looked down on her food, fidgeting with her hands.

''They were overrun.'' Ned finished, his grey eyes moving from one child to the next.

''Jon? And Arthur? Are they alright?'' Robb's voice was small, his newly found 'lord's voice' replaced with a mixture of hope and fear, painfully showing his young age.

''They are! I'm sure of it!'' Sansa said, hopefully.

''Liar!'' Arya hissed as she dropped her spoon onto the plate. ''You don't know!''

''Arya!'' Catelyn warned her daughter. But Arya would not have it.

''Why do you even care? You hate Jon! You never cared for him! You only care about dresses and knights and your stupid songs!'' Arya continued ranting, making Sansa gaze at her plate again, her face turning as red as her hair.

''Enough!'' Ned's voice thundered through the hall, reverberating off the stone walls. ''Arya Stark, that is no way to speak to your sister!'' He bellowed, his voice echoing in the shocked silence. ''You will apologise, and you will do so now!''

Arya's eyes widened in hurt and disbelief, tears brimming as she looked up at her father. She looked around the table, seeing the stunned faces of her family, then turned and fled the hall, her footsteps echoing down the corridor.

The Great Hall was left in a heavy, uncomfortable silence. The formerly warm air now felt as cold as the last winter as Sansa stared down at her plate, guilt flickering in her eyes as she pushed her food around, unable to meet her father's gaze. Ned rubbed his face. The tension in his shoulders had not eased, and a deep sense of regret gnawed at him. Catelyn reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm, her eyes filled with understanding.

He suppressed a sigh; the frustration he felt from his daughters infighting, the fear he felt for Jon, and Stannis' letter had driven his outburst. ''We must not give in to despair, not until we know for sure.'' He managed. ''Your brother, Ser Arthur, and Jory could all still be alive.''

Ned Stark believed that, or at least he thought he did. Then why does it hurt? Like when Jon Arryn told me about Father and Brandon?

Ned found Arya in her chambers; the sight he found was not that different from the one he saw moons ago when she had cried into her pillow after Jon was angry with her. He apologised for his outburst and explained to her that Sansa was not at fault for being hopeful. Arya still blamed her, though, and her mother, Catelyn, and even Ned himself. For pushing Jon away from Winterfell. She would not be comforted, so he just held her and listened to her curses and wailing. Until she finally fell asleep and Ned dragged himself to his own chambers.

He entered his own chamber to find Catelyn Stark sitting at her dressing table, brushing her auburn hair. The soft strokes were rhythmic and calming. Eddard sat down on one of the chairs and began to remove his shoes. The events of the day lingered in his mind.

''Cat,'' he began, breaking the silence.

Catelyn set down her brush, sensing the gravity in his tone. She turned to face him. ''What is it, Ned?''

Ned crossed the room once he got his shoes off and sat on the edge of the bed, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. ''I read the letter from Stannis.''

''What did it say?'' Catelyn asked, her voice a mixture of curiosity and unease.

He removed his tunic as he spoke. ''The King is considering me for the position of Master of Laws. Stannis urged me to accept if I'm offered the honour. But he was very vague, Cat. He said that Robert might be in danger; he thinks that Renly's death was not the doing of Viserys Targaryen.''

Catelyn's eyes widened as she moved to sit beside Ned, her hand finding his. ''But that's what everyone believes—that the Targaryens are behind it. If they were not behind it, then who?''

''I don't know. Loras Tyrell mentioned that he had been sick for about a year and that he worried that the illness would take him. Why murder a bedridden man?''

Catelyn leaned on him. ''What will you do?''

He stroked her hair, sighing as he did so. ''I will go and inform Robert of the Night's Watch's need for aid. And find out more from Stannis. You and Robb will stay here, in Winterfell. He'll be Lord of Winterfell in my absence.''

Catelyn smiled softly. ''You're doing the right thing, beloved.'' He hoped he did; he did not at all feel comfortable leaving Winterfell and the North with the threat of Mance Rayder looming for a tourney at Harrenhal of all things. They say that Harrenhal is cursed because of Harren the Black's hubris and the horrors Aegon I afflicted on the castle. Ned was not so sure about that; the castle is full of ghosts, though he did not doubt that. And he did not look forward to facing them.