A/N: Alright everyone, thank you for tuning in for another late chapter. I tried turning it in to you on Monday, but I just got a little stuck on plot details. So, the news on Daenerys breaks out in this chapter, and a lot more will happen. Off paper, Eddard Stark gets attacked, and the plot gets moved along much quicker. Eddard also tells his daughters about how they would be going back to Winterfell earlier, as it is before the hunt, and before Beric is even sent to take Gregor Clegane out. This is to get to the war much quicker, as I am wishing for it to begin. Also, the next chapter will be a hybrid upload, and I will address reviews there as I do not have enough time to address them now. The hybrid upload will be the first two character POV chapter, a special Renly POV, and Stafford's final decision between Arya and Sansa. The voting will close on Thursday, April 6th at 9:00 Eastern Standard Time, so it is everyone's last chance to vote before seeing the final result. The ending cliffhanger is supposed to set up for the beginning of Chapter 23, and it is a bit rushed and a little corny, so bear with it.
Enjoy!
Stafford
"Robert, I beg of you," Ned pleaded, "hear what you are saying. You are talking of murdering a child."
"That silvered whore is pregnant!" The king's fist slammed down on the council table loud as a thunderclap. "I warned you this would happen, Ned. Back in the barrowlands, I warned you, but you did not care to hear it. Well, you'll hear it now. I want them dead, mother and child both, and that fool Viserys as well. Is that plain enough for you? I want them dead. ALL of them." Stafford, had just been awake for a literally an hour, and events seem to happen faster than Orys the horse's full gallop speed on Renly's herbal treatment. Renly and Stafford were literally looking at each other at every interval of this long drawn-out argument between the King and Lord Eddard.
"Then let it be on my head, so long as it is done. I am not so blind that I cannot see the shadow of the axe when it is hanging over my own neck."
"There is no axe," Lord Eddard told his king. "Only the shadow of a shadow, twenty years removed . . . if it exists at all."
Lord Eddard looked at the spymaster coldly. "You would bring us the whisperings of a traitor half a world away, my lord. Perhaps Mormont is wrong. Perhaps he is lying." Stafford and Renly Baratheon did not wish to undergo this. They were talking about things that didn't apply to them, they were both either very young or not even born yet when these events occurred. Renly was eight, and Stafford wasn't even born yet. Stafford knew that the last living Targaryen's were and presented a risk to the realm in his own opinion, and even Renly was convinced of it. If his father thought about killing the Targaryen, it would be the equivalent of killing a girl, who was barely even a woman grown at that point. And Stafford seemed against killing her for one reason only, she was bearing a child. If she wasn't Stafford would gladly gut her and chop off her brother's head with his axe. Stafford's hatred of the Targaryen's for what they did to his father's family, and his own father was mutual. But Stafford was not about to harm an innocent child, who only posed a threat in the future. He would rather just keep him in exile forever, rather than just killing him. Then when he grew up and decided to get any strong ideas about overthrowing the current rulers
"Ser Jorah would not dare deceive me," Varys said with a sly smile. "Rely on it, my lord. The princess is with child."
"So you say. If you are wrong, we need not fear. If the girl miscarries, we need not fear. If she births a daughter in place of a son, we need not fear. If the babe dies in infancy, we need not fear." Lord Eddard said cooly. If we had killed the damned wench a few years ago, we would have been fine, but no, they had to wait till morals were brought into question. No matter the wretchedness of the dragonspawn, slaying babes in the bellies of their mothers left Stafford struggling to keep his resolve. If he hadn't existed it would have been different, he would have personally killed the glorified tavern wench, and her bastard of a brother. Then again, Stafford was just here to write down what was being said, for the survivors of this mess to sift through and gaze over when they pull it from the ruins.
"But if it is a boy?" His father insisted. "If he lives?"
"The narrow sea still lies between us, I shall fear the Dothraki if they teach their horses how to gallop on water,"
Renly shrugged. "The matter seems simple enough to me. We ought to have had Viserys and his sister killed years ago, but His Grace my brother made the mistake of listening to Jon Arryn."
"Here! Here!" Stafford managed to exclaim and then everyone in small council seemed to look at him as he said those words. Stafford didn't know why, but he suddenly felt uncomfortable. He quickly silenced himself and went back to writing down whatever was being said on his paper with Renly chuckling a little. If Stannis didn't go back to Dragonstone, according to Renly while he was asleep after the aftermath of the Hand's tourney, he would have probably been escorted out and not allowed back in the small council chambers for the day.
"Anyway, mercy is never a mistake, Lord Renly," Ned replied. "On the Trident, Ser Barristan here cut down a dozen good men, Robert's friends and mine. When they brought him to us, grievously wounded and near death, Roose Bolton urged us to cut his throat, but your brother said, 'I will not kill a man for loyalty, nor for fighting well,' and sent his own maester to tend Ser Barristan's wounds." He gave the king a long cool look. "Would that man were here today."
His father, King Robert had shame enough to blush. "It was not the same," he complained. "Ser Barristan was a knight of the Kingsguard." A rift had opened in the young stag's heart. Stafford continued writing down what was being said, and he was still divided within himself. Didn't matter who someone was, as even murdering babies would have to be the lowest one could stoop. However, he did believe that justice does not discriminate with their sex, and if they had eliminated the threat a long time ago, he would have killed a woman that was a threat to the realm as king. If his father had not listen to Jon Arryn about this, then the whore would be dead, and they wouldn't have to deal with this problem. However, this was not the case, and the small council erupted into vicious arguing.
"Whereas Daenerys is a fourteen-year-old girl." Ned knew he was pushing this well past the point of wisdom, yet he could not keep silent. "Robert, I ask you, what did we rise against Aerys Targaryen for, if not to put an end to the murder of children?"
"To put an end to Targaryens!" His father growled. Stafford could feel the wrath and anger in his father's voice, "Their influence will stop RIGHT NOW."
"Your Grace, I never knew you to fear shadows." Ned fought to keep the scorn out of his voice, and failed.
"Enough!" the king bellowed. "I am sick of talk. I'll be done with this, or be damned. What say you all? Seven hells, I'll even allow Stafford to vote on this one, just to show you Ned how obvious the solution is!"
"She must be killed," Lord Renly declared.
"We have no choice," murmured Varys. "Sadly, sadly . . ."
"Your Grace, there is honor in facing an enemy on the battlefield, but none in killing him in his mother's womb. Forgive me, but I must stand with Lord Eddard." Ser Barristan told them all, finally garnering a no vote.
"My order serves the realm, not the ruler. Once I counseled King Aerys as loyally as I counsel King Robert now, so I bear this girl child of his no ill will. Yet I ask you this—should war come again, how many soldiers will die? How many towns will burn? How many children will be ripped from their mothers to perish on the end of a spear?" He stroked his luxuriant white beard, infinitely sad, infinitely weary. "Is it not wiser, even kinder, that Daenerys Targaryen should die now so that tens of thousands might live?" Stafford waited eagerly for his turn, but now it wouldn't even matter unless Lord Baelish would vote against it. It was three to two. Stafford thought about it for a moment it was a hard decision to make.
"I abstain from the vote, I am the master of coin, and I would like actually see the boy's decision," Lord Baelish stated.
"You are going to let a fifteen-year old boy decide the fate of another human being. What in the seven hells has gotten into you all, especially you Robert. You think this is a game?"
"No, I believe this a chance for us to see an unbiased view of someone, who was never directly involved with the damned Targaryen scourge. Now, Staff, what is your vote?" This was the first time Stafford had ever gotten a say in the council, in his fifteen years of existence. He only became the glorified secretary two years ago, but he wasn't even allowed to speak in the council chambers until now. With Lord Baelish abstaining, he could lock the vote, preventing a majority. Stafford had the rest of the small council staring at him intently like he had never had before in his life.
"Kill her. As much as it pains me to say it, we should have done it a long time ago. Just kill her and finish this madness." Stafford's grim words broke the silence, to the glee of his father.
"As you can see, we finally have some sense! So how should we kill her!" His father declared. Ser Barristan had his head down, now not even looking at Stafford.
He pushed back his chair and stood. "Do it yourself, Robert. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. Look her in the eyes before you kill her. See her tears, hear her last words. You owe her that much at least."
"Gods," the king swore, the word exploding out of him as if he could barely contain his fury. "You mean it, damn you." He reached for the flagon of wine at his elbow, found it empty, and flung it away to shatter against the wall. It barely missed Stafford, and Stafford had to dodge out of the way."I am out of wine and out of patience. Enough of this. Just have it done."
"I will not be part of murder, Robert. Do as you will, but do not ask me to fix my seal to it." Lord Stark seemed adamant in his position, defending it till the bitter end. Stafford wanted to be out the council chambers, it was enough for one day, and Stafford did not like it at all. He wasn't burning up, he was burning out. And now he simply stepping in line to walk amongst the dead.
He pointed an angry finger at Lord Eddard. "You are the King's Hand, Lord Stark. You will do as I command you, or I'll find me a Hand who will."
"I wish him every success." Ned unfastened the heavy clasp that clutched at the folds of his cloak, the ornate silver hand that was his badge of office. He laid it on the table in front of the king, saddened by the memory of the man who had pinned it on him, the friend he had loved. "I thought you a better man than this, Robert. I thought we had made a nobler king."
His father's face was purple. "Out," he croaked, choking on his rage. "Out, damn you, I'm done with you. What are you waiting for? Go, run back to Winterfell. And make certain I never look on your face again, or I swear, I'll have your head on a spike!" What in the seven hells was going on the court? Renly and Stafford looked at each other, and if Stannis were here, the three of them would have turned to each other. Did the hand just resign his position?
The hand bowed, and turned heel and strode out of the council chambers.
"I suggest we end the meeting for today, a lot has happened," Grand Maester Pycelle told them all. Everyone nodded, even Stafford's father begrudgingly. Stafford and Renly got out of the chambers. Murderers. All of us.
Stafford stretched his arm as he drew the bowstring back. His hands were shaking as usual, and he when he released the arrow. It landed squarely on the right, and Stafford smiled. As usual he was off target as evidenced by the four arrows, that were at the edge of the target, not even close to the target. His marksmanship was not even the level Joffrey was at. My brother was born with a crossbow in his hands.
Stafford reached at his back for another arrow from his practice quiver, no matter how hard he tried, he was just not good enough at the damn archery range. He nocked another arrow, and this time before he could even fire the arrow, an arrow was at the dead center of the target. Stafford thought he had lost it, and quickly stopped drawing his bow, stumbling back in surprise. He turned and saw Arya with a bow, not knowing how she got that, and remembered that no one was in the training grounds at this time. It was towards the end of the day, and everyone was preparing for the night. Stafford wondered whether Arya had heard about what had happened in the council chambers last night.
"Practicing?" She asked as she strode to him.
"Not anymore," Stafford dropped his bow, losing to Joffrey was one thing, but getting beaten by an eleven year old girl, who was going to be five years younger than he was, is another matter entirely. Stafford didn't like the notion of being outcompeted by anyone, anyone his age. He didn't like to feel weak or worse than anyone else. He just felt week when that happens and he didn't like to feel weak or inferior to anyone. He hated being really bad at archery, he didn't like how people saw him.
Arya walked up to him with a smile on her face. After the moment they had shared in his room Stafford can't help, but feel different around her. Back in Winterfell, and most of the time before the events of the tournament, she was no more than someone Stafford simply enjoyed his time with. Even as a boy of fifteen, Stafford did not wish to involve himself with romance. He didn't know the reason behind what drew him to Arya, and unfortunately her sister, Sansa, but it just did. He was in a predicament, where he would be forced to choose someone, and sometimes he wished he didn't have to. His choice would inevitably hurt someone, he considered his friend. Despite his unusually casual attitude about everything, he would be forced to take this action seriously as it determined his future. However, no matter how Stafford continued to try to think about it, his judgement would always seem to fail him.
If he was just going on tradition, and what was right in the court's eye, he would have to choose Arya. Arya would make a great companion later on in his life, and her nature complemented his personality greatly in his opinion. However, Stafford, deep in his heart, knew Arya didn't want to be tied down to marriage or any institution of that sort. She was the person, who wanted complete independence from anyone, and Stafford understood her to the fullest. Another nagging issue is the amount of years he would have to wait for her to come of age, because he simply did not feel completely comfortable having a committed relationship with someone as young as eleven. He would be sixteen in less than a fortnight, and he would've preferred such relations at a later age to ensure the health of his wife and heirs. But deep in Stafford's heart he could feel a bond forming, that he himself did not even deny. He did not know if the moment they shared was just a result of compulsion from her, or she could also feel the beginnings of the bond between the two. Something strong, something that would last forever.
However, there was another uneasiness growing inside him. Despite the multiple times he had denied it to Joffrey, he couldn't help but think that Joffrey had a point. Sansa and him were close, and after what happened at the tournament, they could be considered much more. However, Stafford couldn't read or even understand the mind of another, so he really had no idea what she really felt about him. One thing was for certain however, if Stafford was really truly being honest with himself, he felt something for Sansa, and it became very apparent after the actions he had done at the Hand's tournament. His hidden feelings that he had harbored deep within his heart, had unexpectedly surfaced, in a time of growing turmoil. First the Dragon's Bitch becomes pregnant, next the hand leaves, and finally I'm undergoing a crisis within myself. What next, winter comes AND the white walkers come back?
"Stafford? Is there something wrong?" He heard Arya say. Stafford snapped out of his trance after he dropped his bow. He had drifted off to where only the seven knows the location. Stafford didn't really know what the in the seven hells was happening to him. Everything was moving fast, faster than Stafford had ever wanted it to.
"No, sorry just drifted off for a bit," Stafford stated smiling, "Anyway, what are you doing here. Wasn't expecting you here today,"
"I knew I'd find you here and I wanted to ask you something,"
"What is it?" Stafford asked curiously.
"Is there anyone you know, who would even think of killing my father?" Now that was a surprise to hear from Arya. Usually she didn't ask questions like that especially to Stafford. Whenever they spent time together, they would usually talk about light hearted things, like swordplay, silly and sometimes scary stories, and the like. However, it struck something in Stafford when he heard that. Lord Stark had resigned the position of the hand and when he had done so it could. It was the last thing the hand did, before the whole Daenerys affair. Stafford was surprised that the hand hadn't told Arya about going back to Winterfell. Stafford did not realize the significance of the decisions they had made in the court.
"I wouldn't know anyone who would purposely try to kill your father. Why do you ask such a question?" Stafford asked her.
"While you were out hunting with your father and Joffrey, I explored the dungeons a little on my own, hunting for cats,"
"Cats. What in the seven hells would posses you to do such a thing?"
"I was just chasing them around, like what Syrio told me. Anyway, I heard a few men say something about killing the hand. Then your younger brother and sister found me after the men had gone away,"
"Odd. I wouldn't know of anybod-" He could not finish the sentence. Ser Barristan made a surprise appearance, which he had a weird habit of doing. Stafford didn't really understand what it was with wandering into conversations, but he was good at it. Stafford could definitely see how he had performed his duty of Lord Commander of the Kingsguard well. Ser Barristan
"Arya, we need you. Stafford you can come along if you like, but there is something that happened,"
"What happened?" Arya asked Ser Barristan.
"Someone, which we have now identified as Ser Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard attacked your father, injuring his leg,"
"Wait what?" Stafford exclaimed, "Why would my uncle do that? Where is he?"
"Last seen riding hard out of King's Landing and toward the Westerlands. If this gets out to the public, I do not think Winterfell will be pleased with the Lannister's about attacking their Lord in public like that. Your uncle wasn't even disguised."
Stafford nodded, "Arya, I need a moment. Actually, you know what? Go on ahead. I need to find my mother." Stafford strode out of the training hall before anyone could even say anything else to him, hiding his crestfallen face.
Stafford looked everywhere for his mother, but she couldn't be found anywhere. Disheartened even more, he just returned to his room. Before he could do anything in his room, like throw some objects like he usually did every time he was enraged at anything. Stafford always felt better when he threw things at walls. Made him feel better, and sometimes doing damage to other things can be fun. However, someone he had been looking for a while had been sitting at his bedside, with the most stoic look on her face.
"Mother, I have been looking everywhere for you! Did you know what Ser Barristan has just informed me about?" Stafford asked with a panicked voice. His tone really wasn't meant to make someone feel comfortable that was for sure.
"My brother assaulted Lord Stark, correct?" His mother told him in an unusually flat voice. "Oh I've heard about what happened near that damn whore house. Let me tell you this Stafford, how should we deal with traitors, who abandon and insult our own king? Your own father? Ordered the capture of your uncle Tyrion?" Stafford thought about it for a moment. He wouldn't call Lord Stark a traitor, despite him not agreeing with what he did by leaving his father behind. And though his heart began to smolder from the fury of his uncle Tyrion being captured, negotiations should've gone… smoother.
"And? Simply leaving his position as hand of the king didn't warrant an assault. We could've talked out his order to capture of my uncle. Do you know how many enemies your house can make with that rationale?"
"Our house, my son. You have just as much Lannister in you than Baratheon, even if you do look like your father. Even your coat of arms shows it, it has a lion and stag in it. And even without the assault, they are still our enemies. They are with us or they are against us." She declared. Stafford could see her shaky fervor in voice defending her own brother. Stafford still didn't agree with a full on assault against someone that peacefully, and under such understandable circumstances, resigned from the position of Hand of the King. If he had attacked his father, then it would be a different story. No matter what, he would have to defend his uncle's stance on assaulting him, seven hells he might have been part of the assault. But, this was taking it to a whole new level, possibly starting a damn war with the North over something that could have been dealt with in a more agreeable fashion.
"Mother, I understand, but we simply can't risk a war right now, or anytime at all, for that matter. I know nothing about politics or wars or the game, but even one of the lowliest smallfolk, of the filthiest slums in our proud city, would clearly realize the Starks will not take lightly to this assault."
"We will deal with them accordingly, and I'm sure Robert will be able to understand the gravity of the situation. He'll make the right decision in the end, or else...well let's leave it at that, yes?" Stafford wondered what her mother was about to say, but he shrugged it off. He just wanted to be done with all this politics. So much had happened and Stafford didn't really know how to deal with it. Stafford Baratheon didn't really care what happened to the realm, as long as it didn't bother him. He didn't care about being a prince, as long as he was alive and allowed to live at least a respectable life. He didn't crave power, rather he craved survival. He knew what happened to people with power, they usually ended up dead, overworked, or worse. Most nights, Stafford didn't know what kept him going. The problems never stopped coming.
"We better hope my father makes a respectable decision. I would hate to see any bloodshed in the kingdom. If the situation escalates to war… well, let's not talk about what would happen then," Stafford responded cooly. He didn't know what will happen there.
"What's important is that you recognize who your friends and who your enemies are. Don't worry about another person's decisions. Just remember the only decisions that matter come from your family, and that these decisions will only benefit you in the end," His mother explained. Stafford nodded, as it seemed like a statement of reassurance. Stafford sighed, still in his training armor. If all the seven hells break loose, and a war does start, who are my friends? Who are my foes? How much will I lose?
It had been six days since Lord Eddard had been attacked by Jamie Lannister, his own uncle. According to what had been described by witnesses and Lord Baelish fleeing from the scene, it was a brutal melee, and Ned Stark fought so furiously and viciously, he nearly killed his uncle, had it not been for the timely intervention of a couple spearmen. And even then, as Ned Stark collapsed, he managed to kill both spearmen. Along with over seventeen other soldiers sent to capture him. Though Ned was left alive, his entire guard was massacred. But even in being surrounded by over thirty men and Jaime Lannister, he made his last stand the best he could. It was short, and not as long as the tournament melee, Stafford had been in, but it was definitely bloodier. It seems real fights were that way. Once a man got a sharpened sword, it seemed they either responded in two ways, becoming sharper and deadlier like the blade, or cowardly and more defensive. Unless the person was a truly formidable warrior, it was the other option. Ned Stark fought like a demon from the seven hells, fearless and brutal, and if he could've killed Jaime, Stafford could only imagine the northman's wrath and nigh-unstoppable skill. And if the histories were to be taken into perspective, Lord Stark's brother Brandon was even better at combat.
Stafford had practiced more on his technique in the training hall. He had sparred with a mix of squires and knights, and even Ser Beric Dondarrion, hoping to keep Stafford's skill in the proper form. They fought and reached so many stalemates, until Stafford somehow snuck in a few lucky blows and defeated him after the agony of the stalemate rounds. Ser Barristan swore the entire training hall had watched a long, drawn out fight between the two. Even after his victory, Stafford still felt that he needed to improve. Even in the melee, that he somehow won, he probably wouldn't have beaten Ser Gregor in a one-on-one confrontation. Stafford would have lost against him if Renly hadn't distracted him in his blind fury. He even sparred with Renly some when he decided to go for a round one day. Stafford beat him pretty badly, but the ground wasn't really Renly's best fighting position. He was much better as cavalry on a horse, than he was in open engagements on the ground. Exact opposite of Stafford, who relied on momentum on the horse. In anything, but a joust, Stafford was only of above average at best, and even slightly below average during his worst days in a mounted combat scenario. Even in jousting, he wasn't exactly a master.
His father had went the hand to see if had woken up before Stafford went to the training grounds this morning. From what his father told him, he would give him his position as hand back if he would accept. Stafford hoped that it would end some of the hostilities that seemed to be brewing between some of his own kin, the Lannisters, and the Starks. It wouldn't be great if a war happened between two powerful houses. He would also tell Lord Eddard if he would accept, if he would sit the Iron throne for a few days for a hunt. A hunt that just happened to coincide with Stafford's sixteenth nameday. It was toward the end of the year, and Stafford would turn sixteen the same year Joffrey had turned sixteen as well. For some peculiar reason, Stafford was born eleven months after Joffrey, but somehow ended up being born in the same year as him. Usually instead of a tournament, Stafford asked for a hunt. Not this year, though, his father had planned a tournament to happen for Stafford, but the Hand's tournament changed that and they were going to hold a hunt, much to Stafford's relief. The tournament was more than he had bargained for.
Stafford had ended his practice for the day. Stafford tired made his way to the Godswood, like he usually did after a long hard day of training. The trees somehow made Stafford feel safe and calm. He didn't go deep into it, however, he stayed in the outskirts where there was nice clearing, and a few stone benches. Not many people knew of this spot, sometimes Arya and him would come here. Sometimes, Stafford spent an eternity here, and only came back to finally eat when the sun came down. Although, he had lived in King's Landing for most if not all of his life, Stafford still got his breath taken away by the beauty of it all. Stafford sat down and observed the trees wondering what it would be like to be one. Swaying with wind, having no care or thought of what was around you. Living and breathing without a care in the world.
"I didn't expect anyone to be here," He heard someone say. He turned and it surprised him even more. He half expected it to be Arya, as she was the only person he knew of that even remotely knew of the location. And indeed it wasn't, it was the exactly the opposite of who he thought. It was Sansa, standing there, looking bleak.
"Sansa… I didn't expect anyone to be here either," Stafford said quietly, somewhat ashamed. Sansa didn't really look like she was quite that happy for whatever reason, "Is something wrong?"
"No, nothing is wrong," She tried to say, but her face revealed something else. Stafford wasn't buying it, he definitely knew something was wrong.
"You can't fool me like that Sansa. I know you too well," Stafford motioned her to take a deta next to him. A little too well, according to my brother. Stafford wondered whether his brother had gotten on her for what happened in the tournament. They hadn't talked much afterwards, but they both knew their relationship had definitely changed. They just didn't know what had changed in it. Sansa just sat next to him, and Stafford could tell she was distraught about something. "Did my brother do anything to you again?"
"No, no. It's just, we might not be able to see each other again. You might not even see Arya, if that's all you cared about. I know you…" Sansa broke off and shuddered a little bit.
"Why? If you're worried about your image because of Joffrey, I can deal with him," Stafford managed to raise his voice, still filled with discontent towards himself for his actions.
"No, my father wants us to leave. We will be leaving on a ship back to Winterfell in three days. I-" she started before began to fade. She then began to sniffle a little bit, and Stafford put a stop that by holding her close.
"Don't be sad, I'm sure I can talk to him," Stafford stated.
"Talk to him about what?" Stafford heard a voice say. Stafford turned to see, who it was. It was Arya and it seemed like she didn't really like what she saw.