Chapter Text
Eddard V
The day had dawned only a few hours ago and Ned was already stressed.
He had given Jory the task of finding one Harrold Hardyng, purportedly the last man Jon Arryn had spoken to, before he fell ill, but his captain had not returned. It would worry him, but for how easy it was for a young squire like Harry to be hard to find in a city like King’s Landing.
“Good morrow, father,” Sansa said to him and he did his best to answer, trying not to look overly shocked at the scene before him. Lady Lysa was seated at his personal table and trying to get her son to eat. From the look of it, Robert Arryn only wished for milk.
“Where is Rickon? He should be breaking his fast with us.”
“The queen asked him to dine with Prince Tommen whenever he was able.” Sansa gave a nervous glance to her aunt. “I am sorry he isn’t here to meet you and cousin Robert, Aunt Lysa.”
The widow Arryn sniffed and gave up on her attempts to make her boy eat. “I would expect so from Cat’s son. She has never been able to discipline the wild northmen.”
Ned cleared his throat in lieu of answering.
“Mother was indeed very kind to us, Aunt Lysa,” his daughter said, allowing Ned to wolf down the meal as fast as he could. “She spoke often of the games you all used to play at Riverrun.”
The ladies kept at their talks and Ned felt an ache. At Winterfell, Cat would have woken an hour past and would be coming out of her sept with their gooddaughter. Perhaps she would send Margaery to wake Robb while she looked over the stores for winter. Autumn was here and he had left her to plan for a harsh winter alone, though he knew Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik would be more than capable of assisting Cat.
Before long he was done, and with a final nod, he went on to the Small Council chamber. He was barely past the inner yard when his son barreled into him, running like that wolf of his.
“Rickon? I thought you were dining with the prince.”
His doublet was torn at the elbow and his eyes had a harried look in them. It took a moment for the boy to gather himself enough to speak but he kept on trembling. “I was eating too fast so Queen Cersei—I am sorry, father, I know you and Sansa told me to behave—she told her ladies that I was too unruly to sit at their table…. those ladies were horrible and they started laughing and I know Sansa likes them but they are mean….”
Ned rubbed at his back, trying to calm his son. “So you left? That is no fault of yours, it was callous of them to tease you so.”
Rickon winced. “I didn’t leave, it would be cowardly to run…. I just said King Robert would never have been able to defeat the Mad King without you but then Prince Tommen said I was calling his father weak and I wasn’t! I really wasn’t, father, but the king needed your help to fight in his wars! He said we were too weak to help.”
His son’s countenance brightened with pride as he continued, “And I beat him! He is older and I still beat him but he started crying and all those ladies started coddling him and they…. it wasn’t fair and they started to scold me! Queen Cersei told them all that Tommen didn’t really lose and I had cheated because Sansa was marrying Edwin but I don’t understand that—Edwin is Tommen’s brother so why would I cheat if my sister is marrying him—so I went away…”
Ned couldn’t understand most of it either but he knew his children would be best served to remain distant from the Lannister woman. He told as much to Rickon and the latter’s pout lessened when he allowed him to visit the direwolves—but only with his sister—and play with his cousin Robert. He gave him leave to talk to the prince and princess if they approached him, they were to be kin soon.
“Prince Edwin plays with me and he’s nice—he always wants to be the hero,” Rickon said, “but that’s fine, I like being the wolf. Still, which princess? The Lannister or the Baratheon?”
“Both princesses are Baratheons,” Ned explained.
“Because King Robert is a Baratheon.” Rickon bit his nails and Ned resisted the impulse to correct him. He would not begrudge his children their comforts, gossip and manners be damned. “Princess Myrcella told Tommen she’s a lioness and Maester Luwin said that’s the sigil—”
“Of the Lannisters, yes. It is also the Queen’s sigil and the girl wishes to be like her mother.”
“I don’t want to be a trout,” Rickon argued.
“No,” Ned agreed, ruffling his hair, “you are as wild as my brother was.”
“Uncle Benjen?”
“Brandon. Your brother’s namesake.” And your mother’s first love.
“I should’ve had that name then, we have more in common. Bran is more like grandfather, reading those scrolls and hunting.” It was half-true for Bran did like his maps, but Ned’s father had always preferred the practical books for passing decrees and the practical skills for carrying it out.
There was only one thing of his father and brother that he remembered without failing and he would die before he let his children have that in common with them. He only said, “Your names suit yourselves well enough. Now run to your sister, she was breaking her fast with your aunt and cousin.”
The king was passing judgement from the Iron Throne when Ned reached the hall, evidently the Small Council meeting was over. Wyman Manderly was seated on the dais for the Small Council, looking disinterested in the proceedings and disinclined to get up. Lord Quentyn Qorgyle stood apart from the others, giving Ned a smile that did not reach his eyes. The Grand Maester and Alester Florent were discussing the position of the Keeper of the Scales, their argument not quite loud enough to be heard over the herald. As far as he remembered, court’s main work today was settling the dowry of Princess Elyana and Lord Tyrell’s attendance confirmed that.
The Blackfish stood at the foot of the throne, guarding alongside Sers Marlon Manderly and Mandon Moore. The queen’s throne, a gaudy thing enamelled with gold, was conspicuously empty. He’d only been in the city for a month yet it was plain as day that the mother would prefer her daughter to be unmarried—not out of a wish to keep her close, as Good Queen Alysanne but to keep her away from the Tyrells. It made no sense, his goodsister had told him the Queen disliked Princess Myrcella’s betrothal to her son as well and she was the favoured daughter.
“House Baratheon of King’s Landing,” said Robert, “weds Princess Elyana to Lord Willas of House Tyrell, heir to Highgarden. Her dowry, as agreed upon by me, King Robert Baratheon, the First of My Name, titles, titles and Lord Mace Tyrell, on behalf of his son, is offered.”
Ned walked to the right hand of the throne, his chain of office clinking against his chest. Lord Renly stood amongst the courtiers and gave him a smile which Ned returned, before turning to face the hall. Just in time to see Jaime Lannister strut into the throne room, pausing just before the Tyrell party. A girl who could’ve passed as Princess Myrcella’s twin walked behind him, with a blank-faced woman bringing the rear.
“I accept most gratefully, Your Grace,” Mace Tyrell was saying. “It is an honour to join our houses in matrimony—”
“Your Grace,” the Kingslayer interrupted and Ned gave a disapproving glare. The removal of his white cloak had not curtailed Lannister’s arrogance. “May I present my daughter, Lady Ceryanne Lannister.”
Without waiting for permission, Lannister motioned the girl forward. She had been peering curiously at a tapestry from the Dance of Dragons and jumped forward with a curtsey. The blank-faced woman gave Ser Jaime a look.
“And my wife, Lady Kiera,” he added just as Ned realised the woman was not a simple attendant. She was dressed plainly for one so highborn, surprising for Lord Tywin’s gooddaughter.
“Ser Jaime,” Ned began. “We were not told you would be coming to the capital.”
“Did my sweet sister not mention it? Well, I could hardly miss the wedding of my niece.”
Ned did not doubt it, Tywin Lannister would not lose a chance to remind the realm that the Lannisters’ reach crept into the royal family itself.
Robert waved a hand, either dismissing Ned’s worries or the Kingslayer himself. “You spend more time here than in your wife’s bed as it is, Lannister. But if my daughter’s wedding tourney has yet another famed knight, I will not begrudge her that. What of the Imp? Did your brother not join you?”
Ser Jaime’s smile tightened. “I didn’t know His Grace would miss him so.”
“He’s the only one of you blonde blokes who can handle his drinks,” Robert replied and Ned realized he was purposely toying with Lannister. “Well, on with it then. What is the next order of business?”
The Kingslayer gave a smile that would’ve passed for a snarl and stepped back but his wife had more grace. “Your Grace is too gracious to us. If I am permitted, I would bring my daughter to Prince Tommen and the Queen, the cousins do care for each other. He must be excited to see Ceryanne.”
Ned gave her a nod, for Robert’s attention had passed elsewhere already.
“Ned, bring the Small Council to the chamber. There’s a matter that should be done and over with already.”
He obeyed, the court left waiting patiently until they came to a decision in the private room.
“Lord Jon’s death, while a grievous loss,” Pycelle began, coughing so loud Robert put his head in his hands and didn’t look up again, “has led to some instability in the Vale. The lords fear that without a strong hand to lead them against the threats….”
“What threats?” Ned cut down the line of argument. “The realm is at peace and has been for decades.”
“The Mountain Clansmen are from within the kingdom itself,” Wyman Manderly said.
Alester Florent gestured to gain the attention of the room. “It is a trying time, a time for loyal lords to serve their king.”
Lord Qorgyle smiled and said, “Loyal lords would already be serving their king, wouldn’t they?”
“The Warden of the East,” Robert said, clicking his fingers. He opened his eyes and leaned forward, the opposite of how he seemed asleep before. “That’s what you all want to discuss.”
“What is there to discuss?” Ned asked, not in good-humor as someone would have to be to enjoy this. “Jon Arryn has a trueborn son and he will inherit the titles Jon held.” Perhaps the words were said too sharply in a room where he was only first among equals. He would have to remember he was no longer in Winterfell, where the snows scared away the kings who stood higher.
“The Eyrie indeed belongs to little Robin,” Lord Manderly said after a moment, “but the wardenship of the East doesn’t, not unless our king makes it so.”
“The Arryns have been the Wardens of the East since the Conquest. No one will stand for the son being stripped of his father’s place. Jon would be appalled, and he served the king for long years away from his home.”
Florent sniffed and lifted his chin. “Lord Jon has been called wise, but he may have made mistakes as well.” His tone made it clear the ‘may’ was interjected entirely for the king’s pleasure.
Pycelle took a ragged breath. “The position of the Wardens was created by Aegon I for the purpose of—”
“Spare us the tirade, Maester,” the Dornishman said. “Where I come from, we know the values of law and fairness. Aegon granted those positions to the heads of Houses Stark, Arryn, Lannister and Tyrell—his folly mayhaps, Highgarden is certainly not in the south.”
“And you would like nothing better than to see the viper rise higher than the rose,” Pycelle sneered.
“The sun rises every day, and much higher than any garden.”
“My lords,” Lord Wyman said, “doubtless, we are wasting the king and the Hand’s time, when it is our fortune that they have appeared today at all.”
Ned regarded him with a coolness in his eyes. The sly arrogance rankled him but he could not focus on it, he was here to see his nephew’s rights given to him. “Regents have commanded the men of the east if the Lord of the Vale is too young.”
“Never a woman,” Lord Wyman said. “While Lady Lysa is doubtless a gentle mother and a faithful wife, the lords of the Vale will not hide behind her skirts against any enemy they face.”
“And who would you propose?”
“Ser Jaime is a seasoned man and a proven commander in the battlefield,” Pycelle said. “He has no lands of his own until Lord Tywin lives and can devote his attentions…”
“He has no honour of his own either,” Ned said. “The Valelords will not follow the Kingslayer.”
“No brain of his own either,” Robert said, before slapping Ned on the back. “You want it to go to your nephew, gods be good. Half a moon in the city and you’re already good at the job.”
“It is only right, as has been done for hundreds of years. You would offend a Great House if you did this with no precedence.”
“One would’ve thought, between Brandon and I, we might have gotten you to loosen up, Ned. Just laugh at the damn joke and make one of your own.” Robert continued before giving him a chance to answer. “What about the rest of my council? Do what you’re supposed to and counsel.”
“I would speak for Yohn Royce, Your Grace, if the Iron Illness hadn’t taken him,” Lord Qorgyle said. “But his son is grown and the Lord of Runestone for the past summer.”
“Granting greater power to the second most powerful house in the Vale,” Pycelle said. “It cannot be borne. Lady Jeyne Arryn suffered many troubles from her Royce regent as well.”
“Nymeria left the Daynes and Yronwoods as they were and even married one of them. She was strong enough to prevail against all—”
“Perhaps you will regale us with your stories of Dorne in the feast,” said Lord Wyman, “after the work of the Small Council is done.”
“The work of the Small Council is rarely done,” Robert said. “Enough, all of you. I’ve made my decision.”
The king stood and turned back towards the throne room, his gait impatient and face resolute. “I will not tarnish Jon’s legacy by leaving his home, the place I grew up in, undefended,” he called out behind him, spurring the rest of them to catch up. At least those who could, Grand Maester Pycelle would be out no sooner than Lord Manderly.
Ned could not let it stand. “Give the job to someone you trust, Your Grace. Someone who has given faithful service to you—”
“And who can I trust that well, Ned? You are already Warden of the North, my wife’s father is Warden of the West, my daughter’s goodfather-to-be is the Warden of the South, and her husband is an unknighted cripple.”
“Robert—”
“You know it must be done, Ned. The boy can command armies as well as a horse can.”
“He may never need to command armies until he has babes of his own. The dishonor you would bring to the Arryns would always be remembered—”
Robert interrupted him again and in truth, Ned was growing tired of that. “Maybes and might-bes. Cold comfort in winter and you Starks have your words about that. There’s a war coming, Ned. I don’t know when, I don’t know where we’ll be fighting, but it’s coming.”
There was only one threat that stood against Robert, one Ned had helped spare a decade ago. “There is no menace that can harm you or yours, the Targaryens are gone, the Blackfyres were struck down half a century past—”
“Who is your daughter and niece talking with, if all the Targaryens are gone?”
Ned took in the courtiers arrayed and spotted Sansa, Arwyn and Celaena, talking animatedly with the lords of the Reach.
“She’ll be a good queen,” Robert said.
Ned had his doubts. He saw lesser lords interrupt and speak over his daughter while she allowed it. She is still a little girl, age will temper her with strength.
The herald announced the return of the king, though it was clear as day for all. While they waited for a semblance of formality to overtake the people, Ned risked another chance at vouching for his foster-father’s son. “They are not who we fought to dethrone, Robert. Aerys and Rhaegar and their children are all dead.”
“Rhaegar.” The Robert he knew would’ve thundered the name, as if he was still on the banks of the Trident across from the Prince of Dragonstone. The Robert who wore the crown said it in the mockery of a whisper, the word so coated with venom he wondered if it was Queen Cersei standing beside him instead. “He isn’t dead enough. I see him every day in that Targaryen boy’s thin fingers, better suited to reading books than defending himself. In Aenyra’s docile blue eyes, though that bastard was never half so biddable.”
Ned saw him too, in the red bundle of Lannister cloaks and the bed smelling of roses. Sweet, delightful innocents Rhaegar led to ash. But he did not see Robert in the way the man before him hadn’t mentioned Celaena with her Targaryen siblings, in the way he muttered in his sleep, so he kept his silence.
“Jon Arryn was an honourable man, a kind foster-father, and the most learned King’s Hand I could have asked for,” Robert addressed the court. “This death has left a hole his son is too young to fulfil.”
The perfumed peacocks and less-perfumed men looked around in confusion on seeing neither Arryn be present. None looked particularly surprised though. From what he had discerned, Lady Lysa or her son attending court was a discomforting experience for all.
Ned saw Jaime Lannister whisper something in his wife’s ear, almost puffing up his chest. His daughter did puff up her chest and tried to reach higher, mayhaps to see better. The Kingslayer took grand steps towards the Iron Throne, a warrior’s grace leaving him unnoticed by half the room, miraculous as it was in his golden clothes and golden smile.
“I re-affirm him as the rightful Lord of the Eyrie and Defender of the Vale, under the regency of his mother, Lady Lysa. The duties of the Warden of the East are many and tedious, and I can only appoint a man who has shown his faithful service, time and again.”
The Lannister stood just to the right of where petitioners stood, almost pushing past Lord Willas Tyrell, and Ned resisted the frown. The Kingslayer made no apology, just smiled at the heir to Highgarden and looked bored yet excited, as if the prospect of having the east and west in the lion’s paws couldn’t be duller for him but he would persevere for someone else.
“Ser Brynden Tully, step forward,” Robert said. Ser Jaime, who had half a foot in the air, faltered in his steps and even Ned was too shocked to feel triumphant. His gooduncle stepped forward with the discipline of a veteran soldier and Kingsguard and was kneeling before Ned could take a breath. “You have given your true-hearted counsel and held your oaths in three wars, and no man alive can doubt the prowess or valor of the Blackfish. I name you my Warden of the East.”