Chapter 41
EDDARD STARK
The war was over, and sometimes it felt as if the Gods themselves had descended to save the Lannisters from their demise. He had thought the war lost when Renly's armies had marched to the city, and with no help coming from the armies in Harrenhall defeat was imminent.
Or at least that was what he had thought until Tywin Lannister and Steffon Baratheon had managed to come to their aide, and break Renly's armies in a three sided pincer.
Some of the Northern lords had refused Catelyn's command and had ridden forth to aid the Lannisters, and so Renly Baratheon had found himself surrounded by all four sides and no army could survive such an attack.
In the end, he was slain by the sword of Robert's second son, and with his death the Lannisters had won the war. Not long afterwards, Eddard found himself thrown into the Black Cells as the Crown accused his family of treason, and in the darkness of these cells he could only pray that his daughters were spared such a fate.
The two of them had suffered enough because of his follies. They need not suffer anymore because of his wife's.
He sought answers, but none were offered to him in that dark and damp place. Soon enough he lost the track of days as well, but then one day the silence was finally broken as the doors to his cell were pushed open, as two guards rushed in.
"Wake up!" they struck the wall, as he saw a servant light up the lamp on the wall.
"You have a guest," and his heart began to race, as he looked up and saw a young man walk into the Cell. He was tall, and lean. His golden hair glistened in the light of the lamp, and though his face was rather familiar one could spot the differences between him and his brother at a glance.
"Stef...," and his throat was parched, and he was Robert's second son. The one who had won them the war.
"Give the man his food and water," and a servant walked forward with a tray full of food and ale, and unlike before this was not a prisoner's meal.
The food was warm, and the meats seasoned. Eddard though remained reluctant, as he feared Lannister treachery and his doubt must have been evident as the young Prince smirked.
"It is not poisoned," the boy Prince offered as he bent down, and took a sip of the ale.
Only then did Eddard pick up the glass and let the ale soothe his throat. He was a lord, yet he drank like a common peasant as the young Prince turned towards his men.
"Leave us," he ordered, and the men hesitated.
"He won't harm me," he assured them, and Eddard would not. He had no reason to, especially since the war was already lost and all the pain he could ever inflict on him would simply be pushed onto his daughters.
"He cares too much for his daughters," and it was just as Robert had said. Robert had called Joffrey a monster, and it had taken him too long to see the truth in that.
But he had been proud of his second son. He had called him brave, and there was a night when he had even conceded to him his thoughts about changing the succession.
The servants left them alone, and Eddard met his eyes and asked about his daughters.
"My daughters?" he asked, fearing for their fate.
"They are safe, and in a much better place than this," he answered, and relief filled his heart.
"They had nothing to do with this," he repeated, and much to his surprise the boy nodded.
"Neither did you," and he was taken aback by the boy's honesty.
"I know that you did not plot this betrayal. This was the work of your wife, and her sister," and this could mean only one thing.
"Your son and wife surrenders today. Lannister men took them as hostages," and he could only close his eyes and curse Catelyn's choices.
Catelyn's actions had left them devastated, and now their fates were in the hands of the Lannisters.
"What will become of them?" he asked, and the boy sat down as he gave a sigh.
"My grandfather wants me to hang you all," and he had expected nothing less of Tywin Lannister, and it reminded him of the fact that the boy in front of him had been raised by the Old Lion.
"He wants me to strip your House of your status as Lord Paramounts and give it to another, more loyal House. He wants me to make an example out you and your House," and to think that a dynasty older than the Iron Throne itself would come to an end because of his folly.
But in his words, he had noticed something else.
"You?" he asked, and his throat was still raspy.
"What of your brother, Joffrey? He is the King, is he not?" and he saw his face twist.
"I believe all of us have suffered enough of Joffrey for one lifetime," and that could mean only thing.
"You. You have replaced him," and he nodded.
"I was coronated this morning," and his eyes widened at those words.
"I am now King Steffon Baratheon, the First of His Name. Lord Protector of the Realm, and King of Andals and the First Men," and Eddard's heart raced at those words.
"You should celebrate that. Truly," the boy added.
"Because we both know the monster my brother is," and if Robert's judgement was right, then he was far more suited to Kingship than his elder twin.
"Robert thought of doing this himself," Eddard whispered, and he had a feeling that he would meeting his old friend soon enough, and the words caught the boy by surprise.
"He knew that your brother was a monster," and he truly was.
"He just thought that marriage and time could change him," but Eddard was not so confident of that.
"I am afraid he took to long to act then. If he had acted sooner, then perhaps your Lady Sansa could have been spared," and Eddard could only grind his teeth as he was reminded of his failures.
"Hang me," he offered.
"Do anything you want to me, but spare my children. Spare them, for they are innocent. Please, I beg you!" and the boy said nothing, as he simply looked down at him.
"Spare my children," and that was all he could do for them now.
"I won't harm them," and his words filled his heart with relief.
"You and your family did commit treason, but much like half the realm you are all victims of a lies and tales sprung up wicked man. House Stark helped my father win the throne, and it is my wish to see that friendship rekindled," and Eddard nodded.
"The Boltons may be just as old a House as the Starks but they will not be able to keep the North together, and with the days ahead I need the North to be together," and so he nodded.
"What are your terms?" he asked, and the boy King began listing them out.
"Lady Catelyn will be hung for her crimes, along with her sister Lysa Arryn," and his heart raced at that sentencing.
"While your children may be innocent of the crimes, she was the one who stopped the Northern armies from coming to our aide. She was the one who made that call along with her brother and uncle, and all of them will hang for their treason," and what mercy could he ask for them.
"You and your eldest will take the black. Your daughters will remain wards of the Crown and suitable matches will be made for them," and there was little mercy in this, but how could he expect anything different from the boy raised by Tywin Lannister?
"You, along with your eldest son, will take the Black after you have reclaimed the North. You will appoint a steward for your youngest Ric..."
"Reclaim?" and he called out, and saw the boy frown.
"Did they not tell you?" he asked, and Eddard shook his head.
"Tell me what?" he asked, as his heart raced.
"The Ironborn began their assault on your lands half a moon ago. Some dozen castles have already fallen," and the Ironborn were attacking the North.
It made no sense.
"But that is impossible," he countered.
"Balon would never do that. Not when we hold his son hostage," and the King did not shift.
"But it is not Baelon who is attacking the North as we speak," and now he was frowning.
"Balon Greyjoy died two moons ago. He was killed by his own brother who has now declared himself the King of the Iron Islands," and Balon had two brothers but only one was treacherous enough to kill his own brother.
"Euron," and now it all made much sense.
"Many within the realm wish for me to join hands with the God's Eye, but I have little sympathy for reavers and slavers. Euron Greyjoy is a monster, and he must be dealt with," and so that was why he was asking them to reclaim their lands.
"All of the Northern Houses will provide us hostages, and in return the Crown will give you its support to push back the Greyjoys. Once the man is dead, and once you have claimed back your lands. You and your eldest son will take the Black after appointing a loyal steward for your youngest Rickon," and there it was once more.
"What of Bran?" and with Robb and him taking the Black, Bran was next in line to inherit Winterfell. Not Rickon.
"I cannot say," he answered.
"A message came and told us that the boy vanished from Winterfell. The Maester sent out men to search for him, but all of them returned empty-handed. No one knows where he is," and if it was a lie he would know soon enough, but he had no reason to lie to him.
Not about this.
"I believe the terms are generous enough?" the boy King asked, and they were indeed.
"My daughters. Promise me that no harm will come to them," and the boy nodded.
"I am not my brother. Your daughters will be safe here. I promise you on my father's good name," and that set his heart at ease.
"Then I accept your terms," and the boy rose from the bench.
"Eat then and recover. The men will escort you out of these cells in a few hours. You have much to do," and he did indeed, and as the boy walked towards the door, he stopped.
"The truth is, Lord Stark, I had hoped to meet you as a friend. You were my father's friend, and it pains me to see you in this state," and he wondered if this was how the Targaryens felt at the end of the Rebellion.
"My other son," and he had forgotten about him.
"Jon," he began, and those green orbs narrowed dangerously.
"We shall talk of him another day, Lord Stark...."
.
.
.
Jon had lost track of days soon after he had been put into the Black Cells, and the truth was he was not expecting to come out of them alive. It was dark and damp, and every waking moment was spent wondering when he would be headed for the altar.
He thought the moment had come when the guards rushed into the cell, and by then he had lost half a stone in weight. Yet still he resisted, but it was all futile as they hit him back and chained him up.
"We ought to kill you, you bastard," one of the men screamed.
"Hey!" another voice cut in as a stranger walked into the cell.
"You remember the King's word," he warned, and it was obvious that he was their leader of sorts.
"He wants the bastard alive," and he wondered why the King would be interested in a bastard like him, but he did not have the energy to ask that of him.
In the end, he was carried to a room of sorts where two strangers stood waiting for him.
"Joffrey," he called out, and he was the one who had harmed Sansa. He was the one who had spoiled her!
"YOU! YOU BAST..." but before he had pushed himself up, the guards pulled him down by his chains.
"AGHHHH!" and they began to beat him down until the golden haired boy raised his hand.
"Stop," he ordered, and the blows came to a halt as he stepped forward.
"I am afraid you have taken me for my brother," and this was not Joffrey. No. This was someone else, and now the differences began to appear. The hair. The eyes.
No. This was someone else. Brother, he had mentioned. That could only mean one thing.
"Your family has nothing to fear from me....," but by then the woman clad in the Red Gown had stepped forward, as she came and caressed his face with her hands.
"It is him," she gasped, and Jon was taken aback by the expression on her face.
"It is Azor Ahai...."
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