Chapter Nine: The Quiet Wolf I

Ned had three letters laid out on his desk in front of him, one next to the other in no particular order.

One was from Jon, freshly delivered from King's Landing, giving a short, succinct accounting of his first trial in a Southron tourney. At the bottom was an addendum from Ser Barristan apologizing for the sudden nature of the event, and an inquiry if there was anything he could send down to offer a Northern slant to traditionally Southron ceremonies. Ned planned on sending some oils infused with Wierwood sap.

The second was a correspondence from Robert, having arrived days later. Filtered through Jon Arryn's precise, careful scrawl, what entailed was an exuberant recounting of Jon's victory in the melee, blow by blow. Ned could picture the two in their solar, the Hand transcribing the King's ramblings, almost as if they were right in the room with him. It was both a relief, and no small amount of embarrassment. At present, there was no apparent crack in the facade that had been erected to safeguard Jon's life. On the other hand, hearing his foster brother extolling Jon over his own son was awkward as it was unsettling. As if the Crown Prince wasn't worth mentioning, save for in passing.

The third letter was from Princess Myrcella. This one had been hand-delivered by Jon during his last visit, and it sat on Ned's desk, read and reread in search of any other meaning that could be applied to the princess' words.

It was a charming series of anecdotes, about life in the capitol, about her family, but it only took a little reading between the lines. The Realm was steadily sinking into debt. Lavish feasts were held with alarming regularity, and tourneys no less so, and with exorbitant purses as prizes steadily increasing each year. It also served to reinforce the picture Robert had unwittingly painted of the Crown Prince, and it was far from flattering.

Ned might not have the taste or skills for this kind of subterfuge, but he hadn't ruled the North for so long to not pick up a bit here and there.

This letter had been sent to him directly, through an avenue that ensured the fewest number of eyes would lay eyes on it. That meant the generalities were already known, and not being moderated sufficiently, but had yet to truly make the rounds across the realm. Either the Hand was failing to do so, he was being overwhelmed by other matters, or age was beginning to catch up with him, depriving him of the strength to handle all of his duties. The first sounded unlikely at the face of it, but the other possibilities weren't as preposterous.

Looking over the letter yet again, as if the words would read any differently when read again, Ned lamented not getting to know Princess Myrcella in person instead of relying solely by ink and parchment. The only opportunity they would have had to meet directly, he was preoccupied with Robert at the time, so he didn't have the chance to speak with his children after the initial greetings.

What he saw written down spoke an intelligent, observant young lady. Ned would reliably credit her sire with either of those attributes in any form, as Robert's insights were almost singularly focused on war, wine, and women. So if Jon had to be charged with the protection of anyone in King's Landing, at least it was someone already versed in the cursed Game of Thrones, and able to shield him as ably as he would her. However…

Just what was the Princess hoping he could do? He was already busy ruling the North, and unless the King planned on sending his heir to the North for fostering, he there was little he could see himself being able to do on the matter.

A knock on the door was a welcome distraction, and likely a fresh perspective he had long learned to trust. Ned looked up from his desk, saying, "Enter."

Cat stepped into the room, carrying a tray of cold meats, cheese, and cider, and Ned found himself smiling at the small gestures that had slowly become habits over the years.

She had been the one to walk him through the intricacies of ruling that he never received as a second son. A feat he never felt prouder for her, seeing as she was also having to learn customs that were completely foreign to her. It made it easier to discuss matters such as this, candidly, with a perspective he knew he was often lacking in when it came to matters in the south.

"What news from the south?" Cat asked, settling next to him for their weekly meetings.

"Jon was knighted," Ned answered. "And made Princess Myrcella's sworn shield. I had hoped there would be more time before such expectations."

Cat's mood darkened momentarily, but her features smoothed over after a moment's consideration of the ramifications it would entail.

She had never completely concealed her apprehension when it came to Jon, not any more than she could fully put it aside. Time and distance had seen her grow less troubled where he was concerned, even if that hadn't fostered any greater affection between the two. That was a shame Ned had known he'd have to bear, and he could only hope that they would forgive him in the end.

"He's young for such duties."

"Ser Barristan will be at hand if any questions persist, and I believe Ser Qarlton is planning on remaining in the capital, so that's another friendly face to offer guidance should he need it.

"Then what has you worried so?"

Ned held out the princess' letter for her to see, which she did so readily. He could see her reactions shift as she read, letting him know where she was on a given topic. When she reached the end, she quickly reread it and handed the letter back to Ned.

"Robert needs to shore up his rule. And Jon Arryn isn't young as he was."

"That is much my opinion, as well." Ned took the letter back, setting it back on his desk. I think he can suffer a better fate than being shackled as the Hand of the King in his final years."

"The King would likely name you as Hand after him."

Ned wasn't enthused by the idea. And deep down, he knew Cat was equally apprehensive. But ignoring the facts was not what they needed. "There must be plenty of able men closer at hand to take the post."

"And how many of those men do you think he can truly trust the same way he has trusted Jon Arryn?"

"Stannis, comes to mind first." Ned thought it over a moment, then shook his head with a wince, "No." Brothers they might be, Robert had little pleasant to say of Stannis. A shame, really. Everything Ned had seen and heard of the middle Baratheon brother spoke of a loyal and dutiful man, and Robert had done himself a disservice being so dismissive. A man who had chosen to spurn a king for loyalty to his brother and hold out against the might of the Reach on rats, boot leather, and sawdust for the better part a year was not a man to squander.

Cat leaned against him, finding a space on the chair. "I wouldn't ask you to shirk your duty to the King, Ned…"

"I know." Cat had held hopes of their eldest daughter being made Queen. It was a sensible conclusion, loathe as he was to send Sansa into that snakepit. Princess Myrcella's letter only heightened his apprehension to the prospect. Fortunately, they were in agreement in this, so that made proceeding much easier. "There would have to be a sufficient reason for me to turn down any offer for a betrothal. Or being named Hand."

The pack always had to come first. Too high a price had been exacted from the time he had forgotten that fact once to ever do so again.

Cat's face settled into the mask Ned had been familiarized with as her "deep thinking" mask. "The best way to achieve that would be betrothals for our children before any offers are directed towards us." The blank card face softened slightly, a note of wistful bitterness coloring her voice as she said, "It might be best to being with our banners in the North. Have you given any further thought on the decision to foster Arya?"

Ned managed to keep a grin from his face. His boys had not been particularly subtle, but it was still a clever bit of thinking on their part. And Arya's own persistence at the idea would have been enough to wear him down if Robb and Jon's arguments hadn't. Best to yield than waste time and effort refraining from the tangible benefits, even if it was another sign his children were growing up. Ned had already dispatched a raven to Bear Island, and he was waiting for the reply.

"Yes, as much as I loathe sending any of our children away. Arya needs to learn some social graces, aye. But she needs to learn some discipline first. No disrespect to Septa Mordane, but I don't think she's up to the task. Not in the way that's needed."

Cat frowned, but inclined her head, conceding the point.

"She wouldn't have fared any better with Lyanna," Ned added with a slight smile. "Bear Island is the best place I can think of where she can indulge in martial training without going all the way over to Dorne. At least until she has a better handle of her wolfsblood."

There were plenty of potential matches, each with their merits and risks. It would take time to properly weigh out the available options. They would just have to hope the south's problems would be kept in hand long enough for them to come to fruition. If Robert indeed planned on naming him to the Small Council, either by Jon Arryn's absence or another seat opening up, he wouldn't let the idea go easily, if at all.

Should that come to pass, if duty, honor, and a bond forged in warfare and blood compelled him to assist his old friend once more, Robb needed to be prepared for the responsibilities it would entail in his absence. And thought given on the futures of his children. All of them. To safeguard the pack and the North as a whole before winter would come.

A/N: Kept you waiting, huh? Jokes aside, this chapter was a pain in the rear because of having to balance Ned and Cat's dialogue. The initial draft was more or less complete since last November, but it didn't sound right when reading it out to myself.

So it basically I spent far too long reading fan-fics, re-reading parts of Game of Thrones, and perusing TV Tropes in search of a decent interpretation for Cat to play off of, faults and all. And since I've been sitting on this chapter many months, I'm pushing it out the door now rather than see if I can fix any of the many problems I think might still be present.

Cat was Hoster Tully's heir for several years before Edmure came along, and thus got all the training that came with that, and kept up with it as she took over the duties that usually fell to the Lady of Riverrun until her marriage to Ned. She's reasonably smart and plenty astute in political matters if her emotions aren't engaged. Her main failing in canon was having just that happen, along with her protective instincts triggered hard, repeatedly, and not having a clue on the status of her supposed allies, namely her sister and Baelish before she took to rash actions.

Does that mean she's not going to make mistakes here? No. Will those mistakes she does make sink her family into the worst possible position because of any emotionally-driven foolishness? …We'll see. But I like to think we're off to a good start here.

Since this author note has gotten long enough, I'll let you put any questions, comments, concerns, or theories in a PM or review. Hopefully the next chapter will be along much sooner, and much longer. Constructive criticism is always appreciated.

Until next time!

Winterman, out.