Reading Time: 89 Minutes

Title: Back in the Saddle
Series: From Experience
Series Order: 1
Author: Saydria Wolfe
Fandom: ASOIAF/GoT
Genre: Time Travel
Relationship(s): Eddard Stark/Ashara Dayne, pre-Eddard Stark/Rhaella Targaryen, pre-Eddard Stark/Janna Tyrell, past-Eddard Stark/Catelyn Tully
Content Rating: PG-13
Warnings: *No Mandatory Warnings Apply, Canon-level Violence, Dark Themes, Discussion of Child Loss, Discussion—Violence against Women, Familial Betrayal (Benjen)
Beta: Claire Watson
Word Count: 43,290
Summary: Eddard goes back in time to the last moment he could have stopped Robert from becoming king and does it.
Artist: Mizu Sage

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“Don’t worry where I’ve been, I’m back in the saddle again.”

-Back in the Saddle by Luke Combs

Part One

“I cannot do this, Ned.” Robert looked sick and young. So very young. And he had been crying, according to his red-rimmed eyes and wet face, though it did not show in his voice.

Eddard shook his head. Robert could be king—could be a great one, if that was something he could invest himself in. Unfortunately, Eddard could remember being murdered by the golden-haired bastard claiming to be Robert’s own son. He could hear Ice, his ancestral sword, in the hands of Illyn Payne, whistling her way down to kiss his neck while Sansa—dear, sweet Sansa—had begged Joffrey not to. Had begged him to stop.

He could not let that happen again.

“Ned?”

He could not let Robert be king. Not again.

“You can do this,” Eddard disagreed with his brother. Robert looked at him with a toxic mix of hope and betrayal etched on his face. “The question is, should you do it?”

“And your answer?” Robert asked, shifting in his chair to brace himself.

“No, you should not,” Eddard admitted. He needed to soften the blow if Robert was going to accept his advice. “If Lya were alive, mayhaps, but as it is now. No.”

“You think she is dead?” Robert frowned.

“Lya was clever and strong,” Eddard reminded his friend. “I would not be surprised if she were found to be the smartest of my father’s children. No one could hold her if she did not wish to be held.”

Robert puffed up with misplaced pride. Pride in Eddard’s sister, nodding.

“If she were alive, she would be here,” Eddard concluded.

Robert collapsed in on himself. “She would have killed that dragon bastard, if she could have. He only got her because he surprised her. Must have.”

Or she wanted to go, Eddard sighed.

“Aye,” Eddard agreed aloud.

“This war made me feel alive, Ned.” Robert admitted it like it was a dirty secret. Something less than obvious.

“Because you were fighting. And fucking. You hated Lord Jon’s lessons on duty and honor. And politics.” Robert grimaced, but did not argue. “You did not enjoy deciding the movement of troops or allocation of resources to best support our men during this war. At all. What do you think a king does all day?”

“I would have a Lord Hand,” Robert pointed out. “You or Lord Jon could do that for me.”

“We could,” Eddard allowed. “But we both are Lords Paramount that need to see our lands returned to a peaceful state but, after that, we could.”

Eddard waited as Robert relaxed.

“But we cannot bed your queen for you. And if you think your Queen will be anyone other than Cersei Lannister—”

“NED!” Robert roared in objection.

“You want the truth or not?” Eddard challenged. “Tywin Lannister holds King’s Landing. You are unwed. If you want the Iron Throne, you will have to make his daughter your Queen to get it.”

“I cannot marry her! She is—” Robert faltered. For once, Lord Jon’s lessons on how to speak about noble ladies held him back.

“Cold?” Eddard offered.

Robert nodded.

“Arrogant? Entitled.” He could have also added stupid and delusional to the list, but he had received all the same lessons on honoring women from Lord Jon that Robert had.

Robert looked at him; the helplessness he would never admit to feeling was shining in his eyes.

“There is a simple way to get you out of it,” Eddard offered. At Robert’s confused look, he clarified, “Out of being king.”

“How?”

Eddard shrugged. “You are a kinslayer.”

Robert gasped in shock.

“You may not like it, but your grandmother was Prince Rhaegar’s aunt—” great aunt, technically? The incest made these things murky, in Eddard’s opinion. “—she might as well have been his sister with all the incest House Targaryen has engaged in, and you killed him. You killed your cousin. That is kinslaying.”

“That is kinslaying,” Robert reluctantly agreed. “Will you send me to the Wall for it? Who would be king then? Stannis would never abandon Storm’s End now. Not after all he has given to hold her. Lord Jon is too old and too honorable to face down Tywin Lannister. And you want to fuck off to Winterfell—do not lie to me, Ned.”

“I do long for Winterfell,” he agreed. Then he slapped a hand down on Robert’s shoulder and pulled the bigger man in so that they rested together, forehead to forehead for just a moment. “But I would do much for your happiness, brother.”

“Ned,” Robert choked.

“I cannot return my sister to you, but I can take the burden of the Iron Throne from you. Go to Essos; join a sellsword company. Fight and fuck for us both.”

Robert laughed and reluctantly pulled back.

“What?” Eddard asked.

Robert laughed again and shook his head. Then he darted a kiss on Eddard’s mouth and laughed, falling back into a chair.

“Do you really want that damn chair?” Robert asked.

“There are not enough items of value on this good earth to make me want that thing.” He paused as Robert fucking cackled. “It is ugly and looks wildly uncomfortable.”

“And it is dangerous,” Robert said, almost serious, but mostly smiling. “I have cut myself on it. Twice.”

“You only sat on it the once!”

“As I said,” Robert laughed, with more relief than humor. “Let us call Lord Jon and Lord Tully in here and let them know.

“Your good-father will be thrilled!”

“Mayhaps,” Eddard allowed. His good-father would not be thrilled for long.

But then, Lord Tully would not be his good-father for long, either, if Eddard had his way. And, as king, his way would be the only way.

Robert roared for a page, and Eddard sat down to make a list of the things he had to do while they waited. He had too many secrets from the future to risk sharing them so soon, so he wrote in the True Tongue—the ancient language of the First Men that the Maesters of the Citadel swore did not exist and had certainly never been written, if it did exist. The language was spoken in the North almost exclusively for official business as one could not lie in the True Tongue, but even in the North, the writing of it had been lost.

It would take a Royce of Runestone to read his notes—a benefit to his fostering in the Vale that only his father had ever acknowledged.

When Lord Jon and Lord Tully arrived, they brought with them a side of Lord Lannister. Eddard and Robert exchanged a speaking look. Eddard shrugged and gestured for Robert to get on with it.

“I am a kinslayer,” Robert said baldly.

Lord Tully hissed. “The kinslayer is cursed all of their lives. Everything they touch is cursed.”

Lord Tywin Lannister sneered, but Robert nodded. “Yes. Rhaegar Targaryen was my cousin and, I caved in his chest. With forethought and malice. I cannot in good conscience take the Iron Throne and damn all of Westeros with me.”

“Who will be king?” Lord Jon asked. His tired eyes drifted from Robert to Eddard.

Eddard nodded. “The Rebellion has won. House Targaryen has been deposed. I will be king. Lord Stannis will inherit Storm’s End, as is his birthright with Robert leaving Westeros.”

“Leaving?” Lord Jon questioned Robert.

“I cannot take Storm’s End for the same reason I cannot take King’s Landing. And I will not be a source of contention or rebellion against Ned.”

“I will send ravens to every keep in Westeros, summoning their lords and ladies to Harrenhal in three moons to witness my coronation,” Eddard told them. “Lord Jon, Lord Tully, if you would take your men and ride ahead to Harrenhal to prepare for the meeting?”

“As you will, My King,” both men agreed.

“Robert and I will ride for Storm’s End to end the siege there,” Eddard continued. “Once House Tyrell is well down the kingsroad to Harrenhal, we will follow with Lord Stannis.”

“And me?” Lord Lannister demanded.

“You, with Ser Barristan, will retrieve Queen Rhaella from Dragonstone,” Eddard decided. “You are both well known to her and the castle guard. You are the only two who could bring her out of the keep to Harrenhal.”

Lord Lannister nodded sharply.

“Questions?”

“Is Ser Barristan sworn to you?” Lord Lannister asked. “Either of you?”

“No,” Eddard shook his head and looked to Robert.

“I forgave his service to the Mad King, as Lord Paramount of the Stormlands for the brother of one of my most loyal vassals. But I did not feel it was right to take a Kingsguard before I was crowned.”

Eddard was not sure what to say to that. A lord did not have the power to forgive oaths given to a king; the entire idea was nonsense. But not taking a Kingsguard before he was king was wise.

It rather summed up Robert Baratheon, truth be told. A fool who sometimes saw sense.

Eddard pulled his Legal Pouch off his belt. It had two more similar pouches secured to it; he untangled them all and passed them out.

“My father’s,” he laid the pouch in front of Lord Jon.

“My brother’s,” he laid it before Lord Tully.

“And mine,” he laid it before Lord Lannister.

“I have seen these pouches before,” Lord Jon said, turning it over in his hands. “You came back from Winterfell with that one when you were ten. It felt uncouth to ask after it.”

“This is some Northern tradition?” Lord Tully asked, barely hiding his disdain.

“It is,” Eddard agreed. “This is a Legal Pouch. Every Northern noble, regardless of gender, wears one. We are expected to know it and to follow it.

“Originally, the pouches held entire copies of the Laws of War.” Eddard noticed, but did not react to, Lord Lannister snatching the offered pouch up like it was a treasure long desired. Could he have not known the Laws of War? “After Torrhen Stark knelt, the Northern Agreement with the Dragon—the Pact of Dragon and Direwolf—was added. Later came Jaehaerys I’s Book of Laws. Finally, after the Dance, the Pact of Ice and Fire was added.”

“Is the Pact even valid?” Lord Tully asked doubtfully.

“Queen Rhaenyra won that war,” Lord Jon reminded his peer. “Yes, it is valid.”

“She died,” Lord Tully argued. “Killed by her half-brother, Aegon II. Fed to his dragon in the courtyard of Dragonstone, as the tale goes.”

“She sat the Iron Throne,” Lord Lannister said in a tone that would end the argument in a wise man.

“Aegon II took it back,” Lord Tully countered.

“And Aegon III, son of Rhaenyra, sat it after him.” The Lion of Lannister glared at the Fish of Tully.

“All of Aegon II’s children died over the course of the Dance. Queen Rhaenyra’s line was the only Targaryen bloodline that continued,” Lord Jon intervened. “Her line has ruled Westeros until they lost it to our rebellion. The Pact of Ice and Fire is valid.”

“It has also never been fulfilled,” Eddard interjected, because that had been the point of him mentioning it. “Another crime House Targaryen has committed against House Stark.”

“On top of murdering your father and brother,” Lord Lannister said, showing his understanding. A greater understanding than Lord Tully’s—not that Eddard was surprised.

“And the kidnapping of Lady Lyanna,” Robert interjected.

“As the person with the most complaints against the Iron Throne, and the one who won the most battles during the Rebellion, the Iron Throne is mine,” Eddard concluded. “Any other questions?”

The answers he received were all negative.

“Upon my arrival at Harrenhal, I expect a list from all of you of men that you recommend from your individual kingdoms for every position within my Small Council and Kingsguard.”

“Of course, My King,” came three staggered responses.

Robert was reclining in his chair, watching the show.

“Do not put yourselves on these lists,” he warned. “Your first duty must be to the recovery of your lands from the war.”

“As you will, My King.”

“There is much to be done,” he said in dismissal. “Lord Lannister, remain behind.”

Two Lords Paramount and one former Lord Paramount bowed themselves out of the room.

Eddard called for clean drinking water and a light repast. They waited together as a Western squire tried all of the foods and drank water from all the cups. Once the boy failed to die from poison, they served themselves.

“You hold King’s Landing,” Eddard said boldly. “And you wish for a kingly husband for your daughter in exchange.”

“I did,” Lord Lannister agreed.

“It is possible that it could happen,” Eddard allowed.

Lannister’s focus upon him sharpened, but he did not deign to demand an explanation when it was obviously forthcoming.

“In the long history of the North, the Kings of Winter maintained up to three Queens to create and maintain peace in the North,” Eddard explained. “No matter where he rules from, a Stark king will always be King of Winter.

“I am already wed, as you well know, and my first wife will be my senior queen.” Lord Tully and Lady Catelyn would both hate that truth with a fury. Eddard was honestly looking forward to the reveal, once it was safe for him to do so. “I must wed Queen Rhaella to honor the Pact of Ice and Fire, or I cannot use it as one of my complaints against the Iron Throne.”

Eddard paused, and on cue Lord Lannister nodded his understanding.

“I could take Lady Cersei as my third queen. Her children would be unlikely to inherit, but their marriages would be the envy of many.

“Or.”

“Or?” Lord Lannister prompted, impatient.

“Or Lady Cersei could become the Lady of Storm’s End. The sole Lady of Storm’s End. You know your daughter better than I do. Would she do well as the least of the three Queen Consorts of Westeros? With no authority and no duties unless the two more senior queens pass them to her? Little more than a brood mare in a gilded stall?

“I do not see a way for me to take fewer than three queens. My third will either be Lady Cersei or a Rose of House Tyrell, but Lady Cersei has options as well. Myself or Lord Stannis. I know which I would choose for my daughter, but she is your daughter, not mine.”

“May I think on it, Your Grace?”

“I would prefer it if you did,” Eddard admitted. “This is not a choice we can take back.”

“As you say, Your Grace.”

“Now, about your sons.”

“My sons, Your Grace?”

“Have you disowned Ser Jaime for his kingslaying and oathbreaking?” Eddard asked, a test.

“Never,” the Lion of Lannister snarled.

Eddard nodded. That was as he had expected. “I have heard tell of Lord Tyrion’s cleverness. I would like him to foster at my court with my Master of Coin with the intent to himself become Master of Coin himself in turn.”

Eddard waited as Lord Lannister considered the proposition. Lord Tyrion would bring honor to House Lannister by merely succeeding as Master of Coin, which would serve the lad’s own best interests as well. And Lord Lannister would never have to see his Bane again unless he came to Court and specifically sought the boy or the Small Council once he was on it, out.

It was a win-win scenario for the West.

“House Lannister is honored, Your Grace,” was Lord Lannister’s final verdict on the matter.

“Now, Lord Jaime.”

“Your Grace?”

“It was a vile thing Aerys did, stealing your heir from you. In the North, it would have been enough to see him deposed immediately.”

Lord Lannister grunted.

“I would see him returned to you. However, it must be done with the utmost care. He did take the oath of a Kingsguard. And he did break it by slaying the king he was sworn to. I do not believe Ser Jaime—a boy said to crave honor as others crave air—would do this for no reason. We both know Aerys Targaryen was a vile man and a rotten king. He must have given Ser Jaime a significant reason to behave as we both know he did. Should we find that reason and it proves his actions were justified, I would consider it a matter of honor to return Ser Jaime to you.

“Of course, his return to your House also depends on Ser Jaime’s choice.”

“Your Grace?” Lord Lannister toed the line of being demanding.

“Aerys took his choices from him; I will not do the same. He must choose, or he will be seen as a puppet—yours or mine—for the rest of his life.” And the West would eat him alive the moment the Old Lion died.

Lord Lannister exhaled heavily—very nearly a sigh. “Agreed.”

“I will question him publicly, at Harrenhal,” Eddard told him. “Until then, he must remain in my care. Until that time, you cannot see him privately, or the truth of his testimony will come into doubt.”

If it were Robb or Jon in Jaime’s place, Eddard would lose his damn mind at being told he could not see the boy before he gave official testimony. If it were their Brandon, Catelyn would start a war over such sentiment, as he had already seen.

It was Jaime in Jaime’s position, however, and Lord Lannister took a deep breath through his nose and nodded.

“As for his bride, I will arrange a match.”

“Someone worthy of him, Your Grace?”

“Either a Rose or a Fish.”

Lannister shot him a sharp look. “Both ladies of House Tully are wed.”

“Legally?” Eddard asked pointedly.

Lord Lannister frowned, but did not push any further.

“One last matter directly related to House Lannister,” he said before he let the lion go.

“Your Grace.”

“Have you read the Laws of War?”

“I confess I have not been able to find a full copy.”

Eddard frowned. “The Maesters of the Citadel could not provide you one?”

“No.”

“Not even Grand Maester Pycelle?” Eddard was mystified. “You worked together for decades and are known to be allies. Certainly, he could have gotten you one.”

“He told me he could not.”

That was very suspicious. But not the problem he meant to address today.

“When you read the Laws of War, you will learn that you violated them severely in your conflict with the Reynes and Tarbecks.” Eddard held up a hand when Lord Lannister looked about to speak. “Sanctions are financial, and I believe you may have paid them already, if what I believe to be true can be proven. I will be checking the Crown’s finances for verification, and we shall make an announcement at Harrenhal.”

“You have my thanks, Your Grace.”

“Now, let us talk about the Ironborn. Lord Quellon fell during the Rebellion, and we both know Lord Balon is as stupid as he is ambitious.”

After Lord Lannister left, Eddard still had much to do.

First, he arranged for dinner to be served in the Queen’s Ballroom in Maegor’s Holdfast for just himself and the Lords of the North.

Then, he started writing ravens.

Ashara first, before she did something foolish.

My Dearest Love,

I will not presume to know what you have learned. I will tell you that House Targaryen has been deposed, and I have taken the Iron Throne to defend our marriage. Some Andals have no respect for First Men. I have much to explain. We must speak in person. Your brother will receive instructions to meet tomorrow.

With Hope, Eddard

Eddard took his message to the rookery personally. He did not trust Grand Maester Pycelle as far as he could throw him, but he had spent a great deal of time with Lord Jon’s maesters in the Vale. He selected the raven for Starfall, secured his missive, and loosed the bird himself.

“You are a man of hidden talents, Your Grace,” Pycelle wheezed as Eddard turned for the door.

Eddard paused. Pycelle would come to rue that he did.

“Grand Maester,” he greeted. “In the coming days, Lord Lannister will be escorting Dowager Queen Rhaella to Harrenhal. You will accompany him to Harrenhal to assist him in his task and ensure the Queen’s health. She and the child she carries must arrive alive and well.”

He would not speak to the fate of Prince Viserys. If Lord Lannister decided to address that problem for him, Eddard would not question it too harshly. If Lord Lannister did not, he would accept that as well.

He, too, was torn in regard to the lad’s future.

Pycelle blinked at him, nonplussed. “Your talent for the Game of Whispers must be prodigious, My King. I received notification of the Queen’s pregnancy less than a fortnight gone. Were you not engaged in battle at that time?”

“It was merely an educated guess,” Eddard offered. If he had not already had the maester down for a well-deserved death, this clumsy attempt at these unsavory accusations would have added him to the list. “House Targaryen has a history of breeding their queens to death.”

“As you say, Your Grace,” Pycelle smiled.

Eddard wished he would not. His smile gave him the look of a man who could not be trusted around children.

Eddard returned to his new solar.

There were eight Great Houses, over 300 Vassal Houses, and he could not trust the maester he had at hand. Nor would requiring a man of Pycelle’s age to copy nearly 400 letters be reasonable. He would have to enlist several of his lords to help write the ravens to summon all of the Noble Houses of Westeros to Harrenhal, but he had to give them something to copy.

Eddard set the goal of drafting the message before it was time for him to dine with his lords. He would recruit his temporary scribes at dinner. Afterwards, he would make lists to divide the Lords of Westeros amongst his recruits, depending on how many volunteers he got.

He would have to write to the Great Houses in his own hand. And make an additional copy for the Grand Maester’s records.

And one for the Night’s Watch.

Fuck, he started making another list of all the things he had to do.

Some of it, he realized, he could do immediately.

He took a moment to send a page to ask Grand Maester Pycelle if he had a wall-sized blackboard like Maester Walys did in Winterfell; where it was and if it could be moved. Lord Jon’s maesters had only had small boards when he was taking lessons in the Vale, but the crown was bound to have more extravagant and expensive things. Even silly, common things. Such was the way of royalty.

Ugh, he would have to be available to verify and seal the ravens for his lords. Well, that just meant he could put off copying for the Great Houses until tomorrow.

Pycelle came to see him in response to his page.

Luckily, Robert showed up before he ran out of patience with the old schemer and ran the gray rat off.

When Lord Lannister came back around for discussion regarding Dorne and Princess Elia’s remains, Eddard decided he needed to disappear from his temporary solar long enough to accomplish his immediate goals. He also added getting a public and private solar for himself as king so that he could retreat when he needed to get some damn work done.

As he did not yet have a Lord Hand, the solar within the Tower of the Hand was available for his use. And it had the historical records he needed to reference for his current task.

The meeting at Harrenhal would be very nearly a Grand Council. There had been three Grand Councils before this, and they were all documented in the library of the Tower of the Hand, from the events and votes themselves all the way down to the invitations issued to the Realm to attend in the first place. He would have to adapt the wording—there would be no choosing of a new King or choosing of a new King’s regents, this time. The King of Westeros had already been chosen, but the attendees would need to swear their vows to him and see him crowned.

Eddard added inviting the High Septon, the Most Devout, and the entire Conclave of the Citadel to Harrenhal to his list of things to do.

At this rate, he would be a graybeard before the Damn List was done.

A page found him in the Tower of the Hand. Eddard recognized him as the same page who had attended him all day.

“My King,” the boy swallowed nervously. “It is nearly time for dinner to be served in the Queen’s Ballroom. The Northern Lords have already gathered.”

“What is your name, lad?” he asked the boy.

“Dromen, My King.” The boy bobbed in an awkward little bow.

“You have attended me all day.”

“With my brother, Jorvan, yes, My King.”

That made sense. The brothers must look very similar. There had always been one of them at hand. They were quick and clearly familiar with the Red Keep.

“You have family in the Keep?”

“Just Old Miriam, My King. She raised us.”

“Tomorrow, I will take luncheon with my new steward. You and your brother will meet with us just before to discuss your future service to the Royal House Stark.” Good service was to be rewarded.

Boldness balanced with the understanding of one’s place was also to be rewarded. And reward it, Eddard would.

“Yes, My King.”

Eddard took a few moments to wash up a bit and went to the Queen’s Ballroom.

His Lords greeted him brightly, but informally. Dromen sampled all of the dishes, which Eddard both understood and hated, but was relieved when the boy survived.

“How did you get permission to feast us in Maegor’s Holdfast, Ned?” Lord Mormont asked about halfway through the meal.

“And why are the servants referring to you as king?” Lord Bolton asked, because of course Lord Bolton would listen to the servants’ whispers.

“First of all,” he said to Lord Mormont, “this is not a feast. By Southron standards, this is just a meal.”

His lords—each and every one—boggled at that.

Once they subsided, and his neck hurt from all the nodding, he continued, “I called you together here to tell you that I have accepted the Iron Throne.”

His lords cheered. “King Stark! King Stark! King Stark!”

He held up a hand. Eventually, they quieted down.

“Who will hold Winterfell?” Lord Karstark asked. As if Eddard was not already aware of the Karstark’s ambitions where Winterfell was concerned. “Lord Benjen?”

“I have not decided,” he admitted. At his lords’ confusion, he explained. “I have reason to believe Benjen may have withheld information that could have ended the war before it began,” he said delicately, mindful of his recent conversations with Pycelle.

“Treason,” one of his lords said. Eddard did not bother to figure out which one.

“Possibly,” he allowed. “I need to speak to him directly before I condemn him, or not.”

There was grumbling, but his lords accepted his choice. Which was good. Eddard could not exactly condemn his brother based on the knowledge he gained in a different life. He had already sent that Benjen to the Wall for his treasons. He would have to hear the truth of his deeds from this Benjen himself before he condemned his last surviving brother.

“Lord Mormont.”

“Your Grace?” his friend, Jeor, sat up a little straighter.

“I want you to stand as Lord Regent of Winterfell until I say otherwise.” Lord Mormont nodded. They both ignored Lord Karstark puffing up, assuming insult at being skipped over for control of Winterfell. “My son with Lady Catelyn will remain in Old Nan’s care as the Stark in Winterfell. I will provide you letters for my brother Ben, Lady Catelyn, and Niclas Poole, the current steward of Winterfell.”

“I can ride for Winterfell at first light,” Lord Jeor of House Mormont swore.

“Ride for Maidenpool,” Lord Wyman of House Manderly urged. “My son, Wylis, is there with his ship. Tell him you are on business for the Stark and he will take you straight to White Harbor. Take two moons off your trip. More, if the winds are with you.”

Lord Mormont looked to Eddard for permission, which he gave with a nod. “My thanks, Lord Manderly.”

The aged merman sat back. “I will send a raven ahead so horses and provisions will be waiting your party when you get to White Harbor.”

“You will need to take enough men to give my brother and Lady Catelyn a respectable escort south to Harrenhal,” he told the Lord of Bear Island.

Lord Jeor nodded. “I can do that.”

“I have hope I will be able to visit Winterfell before I must return to King’s Landing after Harrenhal, but I have not made any plans in that direction.”

“Men make plans, and the Gods laugh,” Lord Howland of House Reed said gravely.

“Lady Catelyn will be our queen?” Master Glover asked through a grimace.

“No.”

All chatter at the new topic stopped.

“I need your loyalty and your extreme discretion in the coming days,” he said. Hesitating. Hedging, if he were to be honest.

“Explain this secret to us, lad, before tempers are lost to stupid demands,” Old Man Wull ordered.

Eddard shook his head, but complied. “I married Lady Ashara Dayne beneath the tree. In the eyes of the Gods, Old and True.”

“And the Fish?” the Wull prompted.

“I needed Tully’s men,” Eddard said in explanation. “Robert’s life was on the line.”

“He bent you over a barrel,” Lord Umber boomed.

“Crude, but accurate,” Eddard agreed. “It did not matter that I had documented consent from both of our fathers to our betrothal. Tully refused to acknowledge a marriage not attended by a Septon as valid.”

“Throwing all of our marriages into question.” Jeor Mormont threw down the bone he had been picking at. “We cannot let that stand.”

“No, we cannot.”

“Invalidating our religion would destroy our culture,” Lord Howland added. Eddard made a note to use that exact wording. Lord Howland was surprisingly eloquent.

“In truth, this is the main reason that I accepted the Iron Throne. To protect our rights, our gods, our culture, and our marriages.” He would not have bedded the Fish at all if Tully himself had not required a bedding before he would commit his men to the Rebellion. A bedding he had watched from start to finish.

“Why not throw off the yoke of the Andals completely?” Lord Bolton asked. Because someone, of course, had to.

“Lord Howland,” Eddard addressed the tiny crannogman, “what do your Green Dreams tell you about the Long Night?”

Several lords scoffed until Lord Howland’s eyes clouded over, solid white.

“The Long Night comes.”

“When?” Lord Mormont demanded.

“It is difficult to say,” Lord Howland admitted. “Fifteen? Mayhaps twenty years? Probably less.”

“The signs I saw pointed to fourteen,” Eddard admitted, remembering his old fever-induced visions of Jon at the Wall.

“That gives us thirteen years to prepare,” Lord Mormont pointed out. “We will be the front line at the Wall, but with a united Westeros behind us? Sending men and goods to see us through? Under a King of Winter? We can do it. We can bring the Dawn.”

“We can,” Eddard agreed. “But Westeros must remain together. That is our task in the coming days. To keep Westeros under a single, strong, and just banner.”

“Depending on what you learn from Lord Benjen, you will have to leave him or Lady Fish’s son in Winterfell to be the Stark,” Lord Mormont said.

This time, Eddard focused on Lord Karstark’s offense rather than Lord Mormont’s advice. “You have your own keep to mind. One much closer to the Wall than Winterfell. You have a lot to do.”

“I have three sons!” the Karstark said with searing heat. “And another on the way! We are Starks, too. They deserve keeps!”

“And they may yet have them, assuming you prove to be loyal,” Eddard said, in a soft but dangerous tone, “but not one of those keeps will be Winterfell. Do you understand me?”

Karstark went red in the face, but kept his mouth shut.

“Speak with me, after,” Eddard ordered. He knew better than to punish in public. Corrections were a private matter, if at all possible, but if Karstark pushed him another inch, Karstark would be going to the Wall.

“Lord Harrion is old enough to inherit, is he not?” Lord Bolton asked gleefully.

Karstark’s eyes grew wide as moons at the implications of that. But he sat back quietly, and that was enough for Eddard.

For now.

“I will have duties for many of you,” Eddard said into the silence. “I intend to march with the Stormlands host to end the siege of Storm’s End in a fortnight. The ravens have already been sent by Tywin Lannister and Robert Baratheon that should end the suffering within the castle, but I mean to ensure that the new Lord Baratheon arrives at Harrenhal alive.”

“Fair enough, lad,” Old Man Wull agreed. “You have led us this far.”

“I could have ships here to see us quickly to Storm’s End in a fortnight,” Lord Manderly offered. And, okay, mayhaps the North did need a fleet of its own rather than relying on House Manderly’s.

“How do you feel about becoming Master of Ships, Lord Wyman?” Eddard asked seriously.

Lord Wyman guffawed.

When he realized Eddard was serious, he hastened to say, “My Wendel would be a better choice. Born with a ship’s line in his hand, that one.”

“I will consider it,” Eddard allowed. “And you lot should consider your sons, third and on, that might prefer joining the Kingsguard. I am uncertain I can trust any of the Mad King’s Kingsguard. I have no desire to trust them, truth be known.

“Any who join the Kingsguard will be considered knights,” Eddard said before they could ask. “No, they will not have to convert to the Faith of the Seven. They will be knights because they will take and keep the vows of a Kingsguard knight. That is the end of it.”

“Taking the office of knighthood out of the Faith’s exclusive domain,” Master Glover nodded. “Well done, Stark.”

“Appreciated, Master Glover,” he offered dryly.

“Lord Vanyon, I would like to discuss a position within the Red Keep for you at your earliest convenience.”

“Steward?” the surviving Poole brother in his company asked. “Like my father in Winterfell?”

“Aye.”

“I accept, My King.”

“We will meet over luncheon tomorrow so you can get started reorganizing the Red Keep to my satisfaction.”

“Appreciated, Your Grace.”

He would need someone to control and maintain King’s Landing as well. Fuck. Another item for that Damn List.

“Now, who has decent quill work?” Eddard asked as he leaned forward. He would need thirty volunteers to make completing the work of inviting Westeros to Harrenhal in a single day remotely reasonable.

Harrenhal.

Eddard hated Harrenhal.

It was no fault of the keep itself or House Whent, but he truly, deeply hated Harrenhal.

If Lya had not gone there to meet Robert, she would have never met Rhaegar.

If Lya had not met Rhaegar, there would have been no war.

None of this would have happened, if they had never gone to Harrenhal.

At least, it would not have happened in the way it had.

The war, of course, had been inevitable. With a mad man holding absolute power with no respect for those below him and without a dragon at his back? There was always going to be a revolution, one way or another.

Eddard had been sure Aerys had kindled the Inferno of War himself when he had taken Lord Lannister’s heir from him—at Harrenhal. It had been such a violation of sense and common decency. An act of true madness: to take the heir of a Great House as if he were a common sellsword and remove him from all possible inheritance? Had Lord Lannister spoken up, the North would have gone to war with him.

But Lord Lannister had taken the remains of his family and retreated from the field.

If only House Stark had gone too.

Fortunately, they had another stop to make before going to Harrenhal, after Storm’s End, but before Harrenhal.

Part Two

“Come,” he ordered as he dismounted near the southern bank of the Gods’ Eye Lake.

Lord Stannis Baratheon slid down off his own mount and followed him.

The leading edge of his army had been busy as the column caught up with them. The camp was nearly half set up. Under the watchful eyes of Master Glover, the first longhaul—the cooks’ wagon—had been unloaded and flipped. The wheel harnesses had been removed, and the holes were being plugged to return the repurposed boats to their normal, watertight state.

Other wagons were being fully unloaded so that they could receive the same treatment. More men were making oars out of gathered wood so they could actually cross the lake.

“Is this some sort of Northern ritual?” Lord Stannis asked, sounding alive for the first time in the current acquaintance.

“A combination of two Northern rituals for you,” Eddard confirmed. “It is a tradition in the North that a new lord hold vigil before the face of the heart tree before he begins his service to his House.

“It is also known in the North that the Green Men of the Green Wood have methods to heal the scars war leaves in the mind. Battle shock or fatigue. Whatever you call it, it does not go away without a great deal of effort and it can ruin your life. None of the men from your garrison deserve to bear the scars from Mace Tyrell’s thoughtless cruelty.”

Lord Stannis grunted his agreement, eyeing the Wood of the Gods with trepidation.

“I have been in correspondence with the Green Men. You and I and every man from your garrison have been invited into the Green Wood for healing. The only question that remains is: will you give Mace Tyrell the power to shape the future of Stormlands? Or will you shape it yourself?”

“Mace Tyrell has no power over me,” Lord Stannis snarled. He then marched forward and helped the men push the first boat into the water before climbing into it himself.

Eddard glanced at Master Glover, who just nodded and waved him forward. Eddard nodded back and climbed into the boat.

He had put Master Glover in charge of their crossing of the Gods’ Eye because of his son, Ethan. Ethan Glover was the heir to Deepwood Motte and the only member of Brandon’s party to survive Brandon’s confrontation with and imprisonment by the Mad King. Ethan Glover’s time in the Black Cells had been just as difficult on his mind as Eddard’s had once been in another life. The difference, of course, was that Ethan’s damage had been done compounded by nearly two years in the Black Cells.

Eddard’s stay in the Black Cells in another life had been a walk in Winterfell’s godswood in comparison.

“Did you ask for this because of me?” Lord Stannis asked, all over tense and hostile as Eddard joined him in the boat.

“No,” Eddard said honestly.

When Stannis looked at him in surprise, about to argue, Eddard jerked his chin to where Ethan Glover was laid out and rambling, sedated and secured to a stretcher.

“What happened to him?” Lord Stannis asked, pale with shock.

“Two years in the Black Cells of the Red Keep—” Lord Stannis hissed in surprise. “—while his closest friends, the rest of my brother Brandon’s company, were taken one by one to be burned to death for Aerys the Mad’s pleasure.” And Eddard did mean that literally.

Aerys Targaryen had gained sexual pleasure from torturing men and women to death.

Lord Stannis stared at the young Master Glover as his stretcher was loaded into one of the boats. “Regardless of your reasoning, I suppose I will try to be grateful. If it works, Your Grace.”

Eddard frowned at the Storm Lord. “You do not believe it will work?”

“I do not believe in gods,” Stannis waved a hand, “or hookum.”

Lord Stannis had certainly gotten the last word from a Northern Lord, based on the way he accented it. To Eddard’s unending amusement. He did not smile at the Storm Lord.

Others had already learned the folly of that.

Instead, he clapped Stannis on the shoulder. “I cannot blame you for how you feel. You have suffered extensively. Luckily for you, facts do not care if you believe in them. They work either way. My Gods will heal you.”

“As you say, My King,” Lord Stannis acknowledged.

As if saying the right words made up for the doubt carved in every line of his face and body.

But Eddard let it go. They would be landing on the Isle of Faces soon. He could already see a collection of beings awaiting them on the shore.

One of them could only be a Child of the Forest with radiant red eyes that seemed to fill their face. Flanking the Child were another two beings similar to Children with the expected slit-pupil golden eyes, but stretched to more than twice the height of the first one. There was another creature with them. Green, but more of a scarecrow than a man with legs and arms that bent too many times for humanity. He had a wooden mask for a face and wore a green hooded cloak.

Was that a Green Man? Eddard could not be sure.

Surrounding all of them was a squad of men with goat’s legs. All in shades of green with sticks growing out of the moss-like hair on their heads. Some of the sticks had leaves, some did not—simply standing in the head moss like antlers. He did not know what the difference meant.

What he did know was that they were all members of the Elder Races, as Old Nan would say.

Since he was pretty sure Old Nan, too, was a member of some unnamed Elder Race, considering how many Kings of Winter had referred to her in their personal annals, he assumed she would know.

“Greetings, King of Winter,” the lead goat-man called as he approached. “Come, this way. You must each pick a tree.”

Howland Reed was the first in his group to pick a tree. Another possible-Green Man came forward with a bark bowl full of red liquid filled with white-gray chunks. Lord Howland allowed the Green Man to draw runes unlike any Eddard had ever seen across his entire face. The crannogman then took a sip from the bowl and handed it back. The Green Man gestured for him to lay down in front of the tree. Once Lord Howland complied, the Green Man cast the rest of the bark bowl’s contents down Lord Howland’s body from shoulders to feet. Lord Howland disappeared into the ground as if pulled under the grass and moss at the roots of the tree by a riptide unseen.

“He will survive this?” Eddard felt the need to verify. “In one piece?”

The Green Man nodded very slowly before fading back into the woods.

Eddard picked the Laughing Tree. He knew it had been Lyanna’s favorite—she had chosen it as her sigil when she rode in the Tourney of Harrenhal as a mystery knight, after all. He could almost feel her there with him as the soil pulled him down.

He woke still half-buried. From his hips up, he was in fresh air. From his hips down, he was underground.

A Green Man was there before he could even react to his situation. He spoke. It sounded like the tumbling of rocks down a mountain. There was not a single word Eddard could understand in any of the noises the Green Man made.

A goat-man was suddenly there. “There is something wrong in your knee,” he translated, “the Trees need more time to fix it, but your first lord to rise did not react well to us at first.”

Eddard nodded; that made sense. “You want me to keep them calm.”

The goat-man nodded. “If you can.” He frowned. “Your Red Lord did not require or accept the tree’s assistance.”

“I cannot claim to be surprised by that,” Eddard admitted. “House Bolton’s power is rooted in flesh and blood. In violence. That is why they were called the Red Kings before they knelt to Winter.”

“He has brought sacrifices for the trees,” the goat man told him, dismissing any concern over relationship damage before Eddard could have formed them. “Your wife in the eyes of the Gods has asked for you.”

“Ashara?” he said in surprise. “Is she here?”

“She has spoken to the Gods from the melted mountain.”

Ashara was alive at Harrenhal, then. That was a relief.

The goat man turned from him, and they watched together as Lord Swann from the Stormlands rose out of the ground. It was like trying to watch a flower bloom. His mind could not make sense of it, but every time he blinked, more of Lord Swann was visible.

It was a fortnight before he could allow himself to complete the trip to Harrenhal. Two weeks before all of Storm’s End’s garrison and all of the lords, save Ethan Glover, that had gone into the embrace of the Gods had come back into the World of Men.

Two weeks in which Lord Bolton ran a very tight camp.

If every commonborn and most of the knights in two armies had been obeying the Leech Lord out of respect, Eddard would have been impressed. Seeing a belted knight piss himself because Roose Bolton frowned at the man had reduced his pleasure at seeing such a well-run camp significantly.

But, as King of Westeros, he could make use of a man that invoked such a bone-deep fear in those around him.

They were a day’s ride out from Harrenhal. Three days, if Lord Bolton had not already sent their slower moving foot soldiers on to their destination. Or if they stayed with the re-configured longhauls. The road was well guarded; patrols of outriders from Harrenhal and their forward scouts made the ride easy.

Eddard’s party arrived at Harrenhal as the sun began to set.

The receiving line gathered in the first courtyard was odd. Eddard took a moment to observe it.

Typically, a receiving line for a king—in Westeros, at least—started with the Lord of the Keep in question, who would immediately turn the keep in its entirety over to the king. Next would be any of the king’s immediate family that had gotten to the keep before him, in order of rank, then the king’s extended family also in order of rank, if they had come. After that would come any Wardens present, and then the Lords Paramount, if they were not also Lord of the Keep, would come after that.

First in the line waiting for him was Lady Shella Whent, their host, as she should be.

Her husband and older two sons had died in Robert’s Rebellion.

Her third son would die as well from the scars left in his mind by the war, if Eddard did not do anything. That young Master Tranis was not already serving as Lord of Harrenhal was a clear indication of his state. They would need to get him to the Isle of Faces soon if he was going to survive. If the blood of House Whent was going to survive this time around.

Next in line was Lord Hoster Tully.

That was wrong.

Lord Tully was not a member of Eddard’s immediate family. Lord Tully was certainly not Eddard’s queen. After Lord Tully stood Lady Catelyn, also not his queen. And Benjen stood with the other Wardens rather than with Eddard’s extended family, as he should have been!

A quick glance showed Ashara, his true queen, had not come to join the receiving line at all. As things stood, absenting herself would be the best tactical decision his wife could have made. Eddard tried to think tactically about this social-political situation, like Ashara had always urged him to do so very long ago, during their first conversation at the Tourney of Harrenhal.

Lord Tully had positioned himself deliberately to imply a closer kinship to the king than the woman that Tully assumed was Eddard’s queen. What position at court could be argued to be closer to the king than the queen? Eddard could only think of one.

The Lord Hand.

Lord Tully was trying to force him to name the Riverlord his Hand.

It was a trap, and if Eddard had any respect for the man—or any of the man’s House, other than the Blackfish—it might have worked. Unfortunately for Lord Tully, he drastically misunderstood the relationship he had with Eddard.

Either that, or Lady Catelyn and her sister, Lady Lysa, had gotten their delusions of superiority straight from their father.

Still.

He could not yet call Lord Tully out on his crimes: against Eddard specifically and First Men in general. Not until he had a crown upon his head and all of the Lords’ vassal oaths spoken—and, preferably, sealed in blood upon a weirwood tree.

Until his position was secure, Eddard had to do what would best serve Ashara.

But he had no desire to ever touch that Cat-Fish ever again. He would not play the doting husband this time. Could not pretend certain feelings were true until they actually were. Not in this time, where the Gods had confirmed that Ashara had lived. Not when Ashara was here.

He would have to interrupt the receiving line in a way that would not be taken as a slight. But how?

Tully was the enemy—an enemy—trying to compromise Eddard’s forward position. How did he protect his forward position without compromising all of his forces and losing his kingship? Distraction and extraction. Dance around the trap, turn it on the enemy, if possible. But how?

Guest Rite, he decided.

Lord Tully had never offered him Guest Rite on any of his trips to Riverrun and had likely forbidden his direct vassal from bowing to such heathen customs. Ensuring everyone’s safety at Harrenhal certainly came before all this greeting nonsense. But how to bring it up?

“My King?” the groom holding his mount’s reins asked. “Is something wrong?”

“All is well, Homfree.” He was fairly certain that was the Riverlander’s name. The way the groom lit up in obvious pleasure confirmed he was right.

There was nothing for it; he dismounted.

As he approached their host, Lady Whent curtsied right down to the mud and stone of the courtyard. “My King, Harrenhal is yours.”

Lady Whent had a Targaryen princess, a sister of King Aegon V, for a mother, and hints of it showed in her physically. Her hair, rather than the standard Whent mud brown, had been lightened considerably by the standard Targaryen silver gold into a color he did not have a name for. He hair was curly, too, in a way that reflected her Dornish grandmother and great-grandmother. Her curls were just starting to get outlined in true white. Her eyes were a rich, deep blue that was nearly purple.

“My thanks for the kind welcome, Lady Whent.” Eddard offered her his hand and helped her back onto her feet. “Your husband and sons served admirably during the war. Young Master Tranis followed me in the vanguard in all but his first battle. Were he not the only heir of Harrenhal, I would have already taken him into my Kingsguard already.

“I am surprised he is not here, taking care of this business.” Eddard waved at the waiting receiving line. “No one told me that he was injured.”

“He is not injured.” Lady Whent hesitated, “Not physically.”

“Ah,” Eddard nodded. “I have a solution.” He glanced at Howland Reed, who stood on his flank and a step behind.

Lord Howland bowed at the neck. “I will attend to the matter on your behalf, My King.”

Eddard clapped the smaller man on the shoulder—gently so as not to damage or insult the man. “Aerys’ Kingsguard will be going with you.”

Because if Master Tranis currently needed and Lord Stannis had needed the God’s healing touch, there was no way Lord Jaime did not. But Lannister pride was a fearsome thing, and singling the White Lion out would damage Eddard’s relationship with both Lord and Heir Lannister.

Lord Howland nodded, “As you will, My King.”

“Have Master Tranis ready to ride at dawn,” he told Lady Whent. “They will need horses and a boat.”

“I will coordinate with Master Reed and see it done, Your Grace.”

Eddard could not see how to naturally bring Guest Rite into the conversation and so, reluctantly, he started to move on to Lord Tully. He thought briefly about skipping his much-assuming good-father in favor of his supposed wife. But. He would have to touch her to sell the idea that he missed her enough to jump the line, and he could not bring himself to do such a thing.

Thankfully, he saw a familiar face in the throng spectating his arrival. A face he could desperately use the service and familiarity of.

“Myrsden,” he reached between Lady Whent and Lord Tully for the Valeman. Myrsden Yew had been his valet the entire time he had fostered in the Vale. Eddard knew him, had trained with him, and trusted him. It would do him and his goals a great deal of good to return Myrsden to his side.

Lady Whent and Lord Tully parted, and Myrsden came to his hand. “You survived the war,” because he had seen the man with his army a few times.

Unfortunately, he had been too busy proving to the Lords of the North that he was a Stark of Winterfell, despite the fact that he had largely been raised in the Vale, to spare time for his former Valeman companions. But things had changed. Having companions from all over Westeros was a good thing for a King of Westeros rather than a mark against him as Warden of the North.

“I did,” Myrsden grinned at him. “Loathe as I am to admit it, the lessons you forced on me kept me alive.”

Eddard felt a deep relief. “I am glad to hear it. I need a man I can trust to be the keeper of my rooms and my schedule; will you return to your old post in my new household?”

“For my King, anything.”

“Then you will not mind continuing to train in arms with me as well.”

Myrsden groaned, but he was grinning as well. “As you will, Sire.”

“Come,” Eddard urged, “remain close. We will discuss my needs and goals before dinner, but after we partake in bread and salt.” There, he mentioned Guest Rite naturally.

Myrsden’s face darkened.

“Myrsden?”

“No one here has been granted Guest Rite, My King,”

“What?” Eddard shot the question to Lady Whent with a look.

“Lord Tully forbade me from offering my guests bread and salt, My King,” Lady Whent shot her Lord Paramount a dark look.

“Why?” Eddard demanded.

“He said we did not have time to indulge in Heathen Rituals.”

Eddard could not claim to be surprised.

He turned to the Riverlord with a sever frown he did not have to work to muster. “Lord Tully?”

“Lasting peace requires Justice, My King,” Lord Tully explained.

“I agree,” Eddard admitted because that sentiment had long been the predominate post-war wisdom in the North.

The idiot Fish continued smoothly, “Guest Rights would interfere in serving the King’s Justice to the fullest measure.”

“No, it would not. Hospitality and Justice are separate matters.” Otherwise, taking Theon Greyjoy as his hostage and ward to guarantee Lord Balon Greyjoy’s good behavior, as he had in another life, would have never worked. “Guest Rite assures your guests that they are welcome. It protects them from unseemly behavior like assassinations and revenge.”

Every Northern Lord—no, every First Man—in the courtyard was nodding their agreement with him.

“Preventing assassinations and revenge is the assurance of Justice.

“Come,” Eddard waved both arms to include everyone within the courtyard. “To the Hall of a Hundred Hearths. We must correct this situation immediately.”

He took Lady Shella Whent’s arm to escort her in. He kept his gaze forward as she silently signaled several servitors, sending them flying through side doors as he guided her through the main entrance.

By the time they reached the Hall, there was a servant waiting with a tray. On the tray were bread, salt, oil, and drinking water.

Lady Whent tore a chunk off of the bread, dipped it in the oil, dragged in through the salt, and ate it. Eddard copied her. She took a sip of the water to clear her palate; Eddard did the same.

They stood together with a successive line of servants as noble after noble came to them, one House at a time without any sense of order or precedence. Eddard broke bread with the clusters of nobles from the Great Houses; Lady Shella did the same with nobles from the lesser Houses. Eddard briefly worried that the woman would fall sick with all the bread and salt she had forced down.

That would be a foul omen.

Eddard used his concern as an excuse to break bread with his true wife and the rest of House Dayne without anyone recognizing their true relationship. Thankfully, Lady Whent’s servants loved her, clearly. One of them hustled Master Tranis Whent out of the Hall of a Hundred Hearths, in his finest clothes, to stand at his mother’s side and take the rest of the bread and salt on his mother’s behalf without any instruction from Lady Whent that he had seen.

Eddard’s relief was tangible when the throng had all passed. And for once, sitting at the High Table felt like safety.

A safe isolation rather than making a target of himself.

“Who do you wish to share your meal with, My King?” Lady Shella of House Whent asked.

Eddard viewed the entire gathering, settled at long tables before him. There was an entire table of Maesters, which was unexpected, but he had ordered the entire Conclave of the Citadel to attend.

The High Septon and the Most Devout were glaring at him like he was a demon from their religion.

So was Lord Tully, interestingly enough.

Lady Catelyn was giving him lovelorn looks that almost made him feel bad, but it was her father who had broken the law and put them in their current positions. Not him.

Her nonsense was not his concern.

His concerns were: 1.) keeping the Realm united to face the Long Night; 2.) Protect the religious and cultural rights of First Men; and 3.) Lady Ashara. To achieve all of that, he had to hold the Iron Throne. To hold the Iron Throne, he could not put his desires first.

“Has Lady Lyanna arrived? Where is my sister?”

“Lady Lyanna arrived with the party from House Dayne.” Lady Whent rolled her lips for a moment before she added, “Lady Lyanna has been in my maester’s care. She lost the babe she had been carrying.”

Eddard nodded, unfortunately relieved that the possibility for future rebellion under Rhaegar’s second trueborn son had been lost.

“Queen Rhaella?”

“Arrived with Lord Velaryon, mostly. She is still successfully carrying King Areys’ last child because Lord Velaryon sailed straight up the Black Water Rush to the Gods’ Eye Lake to get her here. My maester advised her to remain in comfort on the boat for the sake of the babe. Maester Talburn and I visit her every day.”

“I did not think the docks of Harrentown could accommodate a sea vessel,” he offered.

“He is taking up three riverboat berths,” she admitted. “And, as I am given to understand, he sailed his smallest vessel here.”

Which probably explained how Lord Velaryon got his ship up the river in the first place.

“Is Prince Viserys with his mother?” Eddard asked. “I have not seen him.” Or heard him. The boy had a reputation for violent raving and unstoppable temper tantrums.

“He chose to take the land route with Lord Lannister,” Lady Whent informed him. “I have been told that he chose his mount with too much pride and not enough wisdom. He was thrown from his horse. He is dead, Your Grace,” she concluded.

That was convenient.

Suspiciously so, but it eliminated a massive threat to his hold on the Iron Throne so he kept his promise to himself and did not question it.

“My sister and Queen Rhaella will need to join Master Tranis’s party tomorrow,” he informed his host.

“Queen Rhaella is very delicate, Sire,” Lady Whent cautioned him. “I cannot be the cause of another woman losing a child. I know that pain well, and Queen Rhaella has felt it more than anyone should ever have had to.”

“I understand,” he assured her. “The Gods themselves will guard her pregnancy once Lord Howland informs the Green Men that he is bringing a bearing woman to them for healing.”

“Do you swear it, My King?”

“I swear it,” he confirmed. “Children are sacred to the Old Gods. Unlike the Seven, the parents’ marital status does not come into consideration for this fact.”

Lady Whent nodded. “If what you say proves true, I may well convert from the Seven.”

“Fortunately, your surviving son took after his father and can teach you well the religion of the First Men,” Eddard said in agreement. Eddard took one more look around. “Invite House Nymeros-Martell to share the High Table with me.”

Other than Queen Rhaella, who was in no shape to attend, House Nymeros-Martell was the highest-ranking House that had stood, however reluctantly, on the side of House Targaryen during Robert’s Rebellion.

“I will issue the invitation, Your Grace.”

“Is that House Greyjoy that I see? Is Balon Greyjoy sat with my vassals?” Surely, he was seeing things wrongly.

“He claims the right to be there, Your Grace. That the Ironborn raided the Reach on your behalf.”

Eddard snorted. The Ironborn had raided the Reach on behalf of the Ironborn. But he would let the claim stand because that made six of the eight regions of Westeros backing his claim to the Iron Throne.

“I did invite them to Harrenhal,” he allowed.

Lord Greyjoy would probably regret accepting his invitation, but that was hardly Eddard’s problem. Unlike Robert, Eddard was not an Andal. His Gods had magic. He could—had been, in fact, by several sources encouraged to—leverage that magic to his and the Realm’s benefit.

If the Greyjoy thought to rebel this time, he would not survive to carry out his plans. An entire generation of Lord Captains would be lost without Eddard having to lift a finger, once their oaths were sealed in blood on a weirwood tree.

“If that is all, Your Grace, your man is behind that door,” Lady Whent gestured to the one door on the wall behind the High Table in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths.

“My thanks,” he nodded, and moved to the room. Inside was Myrsden, as promised.

Eddard secured the door, and Myrsden looked up at the noise.

“My King,” his valet stood.

Eddard waved him back down into his chair. “I have a foolish amount of work to do.”

Myrsden sat and readied his quill. “I am prepared, Sire.”

“I need to meet with House Dayne tonight,” he said. “And I need you to give me all the distance from House Tully that you can.”

“It confused me when I heard tell of your marriage to the Fish Maid, My King,” Myrsden offered. “They say she has a son. Your son. So does Lady Ashara, though I have yet to have his father confirmed in any of the whispers I have gathered.”

Eddard groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. “Marriages made at sword point are illegal and not valid in Westeros. I would never have touched her, but Tully insisted on witnessing the Bedding.”

“I assume Justice will find him soon,” Myrsden guessed.

“Not as much Justice as I would like,” Eddard admitted. “My son keeps his head safe from me. Unfortunately.”

“There is always the Night’s Watch.”

“Agreed. But I cannot touch him until I am crowned. We are in the middle of his lands, surrounded by his people.”

“Lord Tully is hardly well liked by his people, Your Grace. And most of them love you for your tactical successes. You returned many more sons to their mothers than anyone rightly expected.”

That… was not as encouraging as Myrsden probably intended it to be.

“Most is not enough for me to risk anything with my infant son in the castle, Myrsden.”

“I understand, Your Grace.” Myrsden tapped his nose with the feather end of his quill thoughtfully. “If anyone asks, I will make it clear that you are meeting House Dayne tonight because Ser Arthur will be leaving with the other Kingsguard at dawn. Mayhaps there is a way we can keep anyone from knowing? I will work on the issue.”

“Thank you.

“I will be dining with House Nymeros-Martell tonight. And for as many nights as they require, most likely. Do not schedule them any other meetings with me unless they ask for it.”

“Very good, My King. Do you wish to speak with your sister?”

Eddard could not think of anything they had to say to one another. She had run away to avoid her duty. Ran away and caused the deaths of their father and brother. Mayhaps time in the Green Wood of the Gods would get her head on straight.

“I need to meet with my brother Benjen first thing tomorrow,” Eddard told Myrsden. He had sent Benjen to the Wall last time for his failure to act during the war and condemning thousands of Westerosi to die when he could have stopped it. All because he did not want Eddard to be mad at him for the information he knew and had withheld.

As far as Eddard was concerned—and as much as he loved his brother—Benjen was a craven and a murderer. But he still had to have that conversation with the lad.

He would have that conversation after he spoke to the Daynes, who had sheltered their King and Princess Consort until the very end. After he had verified what Benjen knew and had done.

“After that, I need to meet with House Tyrell and House Lannister. I have no preference for the order.”

It occurred to Eddard then that he had not seen Mace Tyrell. The man had left Storm’s End easily enough. Tyrell should have made it to Harrenhal more than a month before Eddard had.

He decided to ask Ashara about it. She would certainly know.

“I will meet with Lord Baratheon after I have settled details for their wergild from House Tyrell. Everything else will wait until after I am crowned.

“Do you know when that will be?”

“During your respite on the Isle of Faces, Lord Bolton insisted to Lady Whent that, in the North, it was standard to allow three days for objections to be raised from the time all relevant parties are gathered until the King is crowned,” Myrsden offered.

Eddard nodded. It was standard. And the tradition had been maintained by Lords of House Stark outside of wartime. “Day One is tomorrow?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Schedule my meetings with Objectors to start on Day Two. They must end before luncheon on day three. I require a time of vigil in the godswood before the coronation ceremony.”

“Of course, My King.

“There have been questions about your Kingsguard,” Myrsden said.

Right. Because Eddard could not re-use Aerys’ Kingsguard.

Jonathor Darry had personally helped murder his father and brother but had been killed during the Battle of the Trident.

Ser Jaime had personally executed King Aerys and had to be returned to his father, regardless.

Prince Lewen had been stolen from his House on the eve of a profitable marriage for all of Dorne. A marriage that Eddard knew had never been cancelled and had, in fact, unofficially continued even after the Dornish Prince had given King Aerys his vow as a Kingsguard. He, too, had been slain during the Battle of the Trident.

Ser Arthur had been intended to inherit Starfall from his brother so that Lord Dayne could continue his academic dreams and not have to marry against his personal preference. He was the Sword of the Morning, and his voluntary service would be an honor to any House that held his oath, but he had stood by, possibly assisted, while Rhaegar had taken Lyanna and started a war. The dishonor Eddard saw in his good-brother was sickening.

Lord Commander Hightower had been an eagerly serving twat that had bullied the rest of the Kingsguard into toeing Aerys’ line. Eddard would not trust him to guard Lady Catelyn, much less his actual queen.

Ser Barristan the Bold, on the other hand… Not even King Aerys—and by extension the White Bull—had been stupid enough to push the Bold towards dishonor. He could probably serve in Eddard’s Kingsguard, but Barristan had to know what kind of monster Aerys Targaryen had been. And he had done nothing.

In fact, the Bold had saved the monster from a fate that should have ended him long before Robert’s Rebellion had become necessary. He could not have Ser Barristan around his queen, he realized. Any of his queens. He would have to send the man to the Night’s Watch.

Mayhaps Ser Barristan would become Lord Commander of the Watch in Lord Jeor’s place? Eddard certainly had no intention of giving Lord Jeor leave to join the Watch any time soon. He shook his head. Speculation was pointless.

Eddard counted off the Kingsguards in his head. He had six on his list. Jonathor Darry and Lewen Nymeros-Martell had died on the Trident but, still, Eddard only recalled six out of seven.

…

Whent! Ser Oswell of House Whent. The White Bat was a question mark in his mind. Ser Oswell did not have either the iron-forged honor or the Valyrian steel spine of Ser Barristan. Whent would not have been spared witnessing and being pressured to allow the abuse Queen Rhaella had suffered over the course of her entire marriage to Aerys the Mad. Eddard could not make his future queen suffer the presence of such a man, a participant in her pain.

“I will need meetings with each of Aerys’ Kingsguard. I would prefer individually, after they return from the Isle of Faces.” Assuming they all went to the Isle of Faces and submitted to the Gods for healing. He could not see a so-called Righteous Son of the Seven like Gerold Hightower participating in such a thing. No matter how good it would be for him.

“Where is Lord Commander Hightower?”

“I have heard but cannot confirm the whispers that the Dayne party knew he was coming to them at Starfall, but left to answer your summons without waiting for him to arrive.”

With any luck, some Dornishman would poison the damned Bull. Eddard knew he was just as bigoted against the Dornish as King Aerys had been—it was possibly why he felt so free to bully Prince Lewen and Ser Arthur despite their fearsome reputations.

Eddard shook his head. He did not think he could be so lucky as to learn that the White Bull was already dead.

“Arrange for Ser Brynden Tully to meet me before luncheon tomorrow, as privately as possible. All of the details of the invitation need to be private.” He did not want any other Tully’s crashing his meeting with the Blackfish.

“Of course, Your Grace.”

That was when it occurred to him. If he was going to take down Tully for his marriages at sword point, he would need to speak with his fellow victim, Lord Jon, to prepare him for the confrontation.

“I will take a private luncheon the day I am crowned with Lord Arryn and my wife only.”

“I will arrange it.”

A knock ended their exchange.

“Enter,” Eddard called.

Master Tranis opened the door, stepped just into the room, and bowed. “Your Grace, dinner is ready to be served.” The Right of Kings made it impossible for the staff of Harrenhal to begin without him in the Hall and seated. Eddard had to get in there before the meal was ruined.

He nodded. “Very good.”

Master Tranis proceeded him out and, as Eddard climbed the steps to the High Table, Master Tranis called, “King Eddard of the Royal House Stark, the First of his Name. King of the First Men, the Rhyonar, and the Andals. Lord of the Eight Kingdoms of Westeros. Protector of the Realm!”

Clearly, Master Tranis had paid attention to their fireside debates about what Robert’s kingly titles should be. He had also remembered and used Eddard’s preferences from those same discussions.

Everyone in the room stood, even House Nymeros-Martell at the High Table, and the North led the room in some hearty cheering.

He would be lying if he said everyone actually looked happy about him, his position, or his chosen titles.

Eddard stood in front of the fucking throne positioned in the center of the High Table when a regular chair would have served just fine. He held up a hand, and the North fell quiet so fast, so obediently, that even the rest of those who had fought on their side during Robert’s Rebellion were shocked by it.

“We have a few announcements to make official before our meal is served. Lord Baratheon?”

“My King,” Robert said from where he was seated as close to the High Table as he could get without actually joining it.

Robert stood and turned to face the gathered throng. “Many of you have likely guessed, but I have abdicated my claim on the Iron Throne to the commander responsible for the most victories over the course of Robert’s Rebellion. I have done this for several reasons. Beyond the exhibition of King Eddard’s prodigious martial skill that has rocked all of Westeros to its foundations, King Eddard is the party most damaged by the madness of King Aerys and his heir, Prince Rhaegar.

“For those of you who are confused by my statements,” Robert looked significantly at where the Reacher and Crownland lords were practically quarantined within the Hall. “King Eddard’s sister, the Lady Lyanna of House Stark of the North, was kidnapped, raped, and held against the will of her father by Prince Rhaegar—”

“She wanted it!” one anonymous Reacher Lord cried.

“She is a liar!” shouted a second.

“Robert,” Eddard interrupted before his brother in all but blood could explode in fury.

Robert nodded and moved out from in front of him.

“Legally, a man taking a woman away from wherever her Lord Father has told her to be, he has kidnapped her,” Eddard pointed out. “My sister was pregnant when she arrived here at Harrenhal. That means a man touched her sexually. As none of the men with her had our father’s permission or blessing to touch her, that means she was raped. Before anyone can voice that objection, it does not matter if Prince Rhaegar touched my sister after he made the decision to marry her or after he went through with marrying her; he did not have the permission of our Lord Father to do so. Nor was a single member of my family present for any wedding that could have happened. That means that any wedding between them was illegal and non-binding. The means that every time Rhaegar performed a husband’s duty upon my technically and legally unwed sister, it was rape per the legal standard of Westeros.

“King Aerys murdered my father and brother in a farce of a trial by combat.

“Yes, my brother said threatening words in anger towards a prince that was not there, in the Red Keep.”

He had to be careful here. Personally, he did not care what words a man said, only the actions they did, but saying that could come back to bite him later so he refrained.

“Yes, King Aerys had the right to his accusations of treason. Yes, King Aerys did the right thing by calling our father to answer for the accusations against my brother. No, he did not have the right to tie my father up, set him on fire, and call it a Trial by Combat.

“Legal Trials by Combat require both sides to have an equal chance of winning. Anything less is void. That means one armsman against another armsman or, as per the Andal Tradition, seven versus seven. Trial by Combat is not an evil, mad game where you force the son accused of a crime to choke himself to death to try to save the father that he loves.

“Further, King Aerys had no grounds to call for my head after he murdered by father and brother. Being the brother of an illegally tried and murdered person is not a crime. Nor did he have grounds to call for Lord Baratheon’s head, as it is not a crime to be promised in marriage to a kidnap victim. King Aerys also did not have grounds to demand Lord Arryn break Guest Right to murder a pair of boys he raised.

“Are there any further questions?”

“He was king!” a new voice cried.

“No king is above the law in Westeros,” Eddard countered. “Read the Charter of the Iron Throne, if you do not believe me. It is the first line of the second paragraph!”

The hall was dead silent.

“Lord Baratheon,” Eddard said sharply, still peeved by fools clinging to delusions they should all be well past.

“Right,” Robert nodded, moving back into the middle. “Now that that is cleared up. I am also abdicating my rule of Storm’s End and the Stormlands to my brother, Stannis Baratheon.

“I am a kinslayer. Rhaegar Targaryen was my cousin, and I caved in his chest with my war hammer. I am entirely proud of it. I kill him all over again, every night in my dreams. I could dream that dream for the rest of my life and never kill him enough for what he did to King Eddard’s sister, Lady Lyanna, but I recognize that a kinslayer is cursed. And all who follow him are cursed with him. I will not let Rhaegar Targaryen be the Doom of Westeros. Therefore, I forfeit my claims and, once King Eddard has all of your vows, will live the rest of my life in exile.

“But. Until he is crowned, King Eddard cannot claim a Kingsguard.

“Until he does claim a Kingsguard, you will have to go through me if you mean him harm.”

Well. They had thrown about the idea of Robert standing as his swornsword until he was crowned but he had not agreed to anything. He supposed he would have to allow it, now that Robert had claimed the duty so publicly.

“Thank you, Ser Robert,” Eddard said, reflecting his acceptance of Robert’s words with the new, lesser title he used to address his dear friend.

Eddard stood as Robert returned to his chair. “This is where I had intended to explain House Stark’s grievances against House Targaryen, but I have done most of that and have no interest in retreading the same ground.

“Finally, per the First Man tradition, I will be crowned in three days. As I am well acquainted with the needs of the lords that fought with me during Robert’s Rebellion, tomorrow will be dedicated to getting to know the needs of the lords that fought alongside House Targaryen.” He nodded to the ruling Princess of House Nymeros-Martell, who was sat at his right hand. She nodded back with gravity equal to his own. “The entire second day and first half of the third day will be given—again, per First Man tradition—to hearing the objections of those who oppose my rule of Westeros.

“Appointments on appropriate days may be requested from my valet, Ser Myrsden of House Yew.

“Now, our business is complete. Let us eat!” Eddard finally sat.

House Whent’s servitors spilled into the Hall like a black and yellow tide, overburdened with trays of food, ale, and wine.

Part Three

“My Princess, how was your journey north?” he asked as servants danced about the table, laying out food.

“I have been told that Nor—First Men like yourself rarely have the patience for small talk, My King.”

Eddard huffed. “Is it that obvious?”

Princess Mariah of Dorne laughed gently.

“Lady Ashara is practically a second daughter to me,” Princess Mariah said once her mirth had passed. “She has told me the truth of your relationship with her, but several things remain unclear to me.”

“War has a way of muddying some things and clarifying others,” Eddard said, mostly to buy himself some time. “I feel I should speak with Lady Ashara before I make any announcements or share any confidences, Your Highness.”

“That is wise, My King, but know that Dorne is with you as long as you honor the promises you have made to Lady Ashara. And a few other things,” Princess Mariah shrugged.

Eddard glanced at Prince Oberyn.

The Red Viper was sitting on the far side of his mother from Eddard and not even bothering to pretend he was not listening.

“I have already arranged for all of the men who breached Maegor’s Holdfast and brutally violated Princess Elia to be turned over to you by Lord Lannister,” he told both Martells.

Oberyn grinned. “You would enable our revenge?”

“I will bring justice to my vassals,” Eddard corrected. “Revenge would be giving you Lord Jaime merely because of his connection to the West when he, like your sister, was very much a hostage and a victim of House Targaryen, my prince. Justice is turning over the men that wildly exceeded their Warden’s orders to give your sister a painful and depraved end.”

“My daughter’s remains?” Princess Mariah asked.

“Princess Elia and her children have been treated and cleansed by the Silent Sisters because I understood her to be an adherent of the Faith of the Seven,” Eddard told her. It was solace to his soul to see the grieving mother relax. “There was talk of them laying in state. As soon as I had the authority, I denied that. Elia, Rhaenys and Aegon are currently securely entombed in King’s Landing, deep beneath Maegor’s Holdfast. I had a hardwood coffin prepared for them should you want them to return to Sunspear for their final rest, but it seemed only appropriate to speak with you before sending them off or burning them in the Targaryen fashion.”

“I would like to take them home with us, yes, Your Grace,” Princess Mariah agreed.

“We can return home by way of King’s Landing,” Prince Oberyn offered. “Take her with us when we go.”

“My steward, Lord Vanyon Poole, is the only one other than myself who has a key to the tomb in which your family members rest. I will instruct him to make himself available to you to ensure that your daughter’s and grandchildren’s remains are handled properly.”

Princess Mariah silently wiped a tear from her eye. “You have my gratitude, My King.”

Eddard took a moment to eat a bite of food so all present could begin to eat. He took a sip of ale for the same reason.

“I find that I am deeply disturbed by the negative bias King Aerys and Lord Commander Hightower held against Dornish.”

“Are you implying that a man who married his son to a Dornish woman is unreasonable to object to his granddaughter smelling Dornish?” Prince Oberyn asked. His wide eyes were trying for innocence, but his shit-eating grin showed the truth of him.

“Yes, I am,” Eddard said simply. “Not only do I consider it unreasonable, but also foolish.”

“One might say, mad?”

Eddard rolled his eyes at the Red Viper of Dorne, since that was clearly what the man was going for. Prince Oberyn crowed his triumph.

“I am considering using marriages to, effectively, sew the shared borders of Dorne, the Stormlands, and the Reach, together. For peace through common blood. I will need a list of eligible nobles across that part of your border. I will be making the same request of House Tyrell and House Baratheon.”

“A bold plan, Your Grace,” she said. Which Eddard took to mean the Princess of Dorne did not think it would work.

“It is work that will require generations of marriages,” Prince Oberyn seconded both of them obliquely.

It was his first contribution that Eddard wholeheartedly agreed with.

“It should have been done generations ago,” Eddard pointed out.

Prince Oberyn shrugged agreeably enough.

“My Queen will make the matches,” Eddard eventually admitted. “I will merely announce them.”

Princess Mariah snorted, amused. “I made the list you asked for in your Raven. Actually, I made two. In the first, I listed all of those that I felt best qualified for each position, regardless of their birth status. In the second, I did the same again without taking any of the natural children of Dorne into consideration.”

Eddard considered that. “I confess I am uncertain of the Rhoynish traditions, but among First Men all children are sacred to the Gods. Their origins do not matter to us, though natural children are normally considered to be gifted with a higher duty by the gods than the game of thrones. A fate that trueborn children could not fill because of their trueborn duties. A fate the natural children were born to fulfill, either great or terrible. That is why their surnames were natural things—Snow, Stone, Flowers.” He waved a hand in frustration. “And then, of course, the Andals corrupted our traditions into their concept of bastardry. Made the Will of our Gods a bad thing.”

“That is fascinating, but does not tell me which list you would prefer, Your Grace.” Princess Maraih raised a single eyebrow at him.

“The first list, of course.”

Prince Oberyn pulled a scroll from one of his belt pouches and reached over his mother to hand it to Eddard.

Eddard was amused. “I am not certain I should take anything from your hands, Red Viper.” Prince Oberyn was renowned for his talents as a poisoner.

Prince Oberyn laughed. “I was unaware that moniker had traveled this far north.”

Eddard hummed, non-committal. He honestly could not recall if Ashara had shared the story with him or if he had remembered it from his other future.

Princess Mariah took the scroll from her son, rolled it around in her hands, and passed it to Eddard. Looking at Prince Oberyn’s entirely calm countenance, Eddard decided it was safe enough to take the scroll and did.

One course of their meal was gathered up and a second was carried out.

Eddard did his best to ignore the boys tasting the food on every tray before it was allowed to be laid upon the table. He understood the practice and valued the security it gave him, but he hated the necessity.

Eddard honestly hated sitting through more than a single course unless he was celebrating a special occasion. He did not understand this Southron need for carrying on eating and drinking when one could be working or resting. He prayed to the Old Gods that Lady Whent had ordered no more than three courses.

Please, Gods, no more than three courses.

Focus, Eddard.

He turned to the list Princess Mariah had presented him with. All but one office was filled with a female, be she noble or a bastard. Some of the bastards were even female. And the one male on the list? Was put down for Master of Coin.

Eddard laughed out loud.

He ignored the sudden stillness from the lower tables closest to him. As well as Prince Oberyn’s furious flush.

He turned to grin at Princess Mariah only to see her already smiling at him. “This is the most perfect list I could have asked you for. It gives me everything no other kingdom could offer without it being an insult.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Princess Mariah sent the one son that had attended with her a superior look.

Prince Oberyn accepted his mother’s gloating with by far more grace than Eddard had expected.

“Unfortunately, Master of Coin is most often associated with foreigners. Since my overarching goal is for Dorne to be fully accepted amongst the greater body of Westeros, I will not undercut our efforts by putting a Dornishman in that post. The Master of Whispers is widely the Small Council member trusted least by the greater part of Westeros, despite the immense amount of trust the duties they are trusted with imply that the Iron Throne holds for them. Thanks to Lord Varys, Master of Whispers is currently also associated with foreigner. Both of those seats will have to go to the most boringly Andal-respectable people that I can find who are also capable of fulfilling those jobs.”

“Unfortunate,” Princess Mariah agreed, “but understood.”

Eddard re-read the list, more slowly this time. “Obviously, your first choice for the Dornish Seat will be honored.

“Further, I would like you to consider a term of service between five and ten years for the person filling the Dornish Seat—I am aware that nine is a sacred number within Rhoynish culture, so mayhaps nine years would be your choice. That way you can rotate through your choice of Dornish people and keep the seat from ever going empty. I understand some of your people consider it a sacrifice to actually leave Dorne.

“My only requirements for the role are that they are Dornish by birth and culture; are loyal to us both; and can read and write.”

“As you will, My King.” Princess Mariah paused to consider. “I agree to a nine-year term of service, that the Head of House Nymeros-Martell will take on the duty of choosing candidates to fill the Dornish Seat on the Small Council, and that it will be our duty to keep that seat full.”

“They will have to make oaths to the Iron Throne in writing and blood upon the weirwood, but they will be released from those oaths when their term of service ends,” Eddard warned. He strongly hoped Princess Mariah would take the time to figure out what making an oath upon a weirwood meant, but he was not going to order her to.

He needed the Andals to make oaths in exactly that way, and he had no intention of warning them about it, either.

“I will take all three of the female warriors you listed under the Kingsguard to stand as my queens’ personal guards.”

Princess Mariah nodded, unsurprised.

Eddard hesitated. “I extend my condolences for the loss of your brother. It is a pain unlike any other; I know it well. Worse, you lost him twice—once to the Kingsguard and finally upon the Trident.”

“It was difficult losing my brother, Your Grace,” Princess Mariah said calmly. “His marriage had been intended to end an internal conflict in Dorne. King Aerys called him to King’s Landing weeks before the marriage was set to take place, and he never came back.

“I would like his children legitimized so that we may retroactively seal that breach in Dorne.”

“I am aware that he broke his Kingsguard vows,” Eddard admitted. “That he acted as a husband to his intended wife and gave her children. Children that he fathered and House Nymeros-Martell financially supported, contrary to the vows Prince Lewen made to his king.”

“Vows he was forced to make,” Princess Mariah pointed out. “At sword point, as it were. I am certain you are familiar with the madness such inducement renders within someone.”

Well, damn.

“I will consider it,” was all he would say. He already knew he would ensure none of Prince Lewen’s public records ever mentioned the not-wife. But he did not see how he could legitimize the children without tarnishing the entire Kingsguard and the Iron Throne. That was a step too far, in his mind.

“I had a question, Sire,” Prince Oberyn offered just as Eddard’s consideration could have, even in his books, been called brooding.

“Ask.”

“Why is House Tyrell Warden of the South? They are not the furthest south kingdom in Westeros.”

That. Was a fair point. And Lord Mace Tyrell had violated the Laws of War left, right, and center, with his Siege of Storm’s End.

Not that Mace Tyrell could have been the tactical mind behind the siege. But he was the commander of record. Any folly his men got up to, that he led them in or simply failed to correct them away from, was ultimately his fault.

“Have you studied the Laws of War?” he generally asked the Nymeros-Martells that he had the attention of.

“The Laws of War?” Princess Mariah asked.

“At the Citadel,” Prince Oberyn nodded.

“The sheer lack of knowledge I have encountered about the Laws of War since the beginning of Robert’s Rebellion is truly bothering me,” Eddard had to admit. He looked to the wall lined with page boys to his right. He held up two fingers. When two boys stepped forward, he silently waved them over.

“Go to Lord Howland of House Reed at the Northern Table and request his Legal Pouch. Bring it to me,” he told the first one to arrive.

“Sire,” the first one bowed and practically flew off to complete his task.

“Ask the maester seated with House Tully if he is Maester Luwin.” Eddard knew he was, could identify his old maester on sight, but he had not met the man for months yet at this point the first time he had lived this life, so he had to ask. “If he is, tell him I wish to speak with him immediately.”

“Yes, Sire,” the second page, the older one, bowed and left at a more respectable pace than the first one. That one was nearly ready to squire for knighthood.

Eddard eyed Oberyn speculatively. Daemon Targaryen was said to be wild in all of the ways Prince Oberyn was called wild, but all of the boys that squired under the Rogue Prince had proven to be knights of great skill and superior loyalty.

Mayhaps that would be the same with Prince Oberyn.

“I need a master-at-arms I can trust with the training of my forces within the Red Keep,” he pointedly eyed Prince Oberyn.

Prince Oberyn shared a speculative look with his mother. After a few moments of consideration, she nodded.

“Five years, sire,” Prince Oberyn offered.

“Five years,” Eddard agreed. “Starting after the two moons I am giving you to see your sister and her children home.”

Prince Oberyn swallowed hard and nodded his agreement.

The first page returned then with a green leather pouch embossed with the lizard-lion of House Reed in hand.

Eddard accepted it with a nod and started to inspect the contents. Interestingly, and probably not a surprise considering Lord Howland’s abilities, the King Jaehaerys’s Laws of the Dragon, which usually resided in the back half of the Charter for the Iron Throne, had been cleanly cut out. Instead, Aegon’s Charter had been loosely sewn into the Laws of Winter written in book form.

The Dragon’s Laws had borne a significant resemblance to the Laws of Winter when Queen Alysanne and Jaehaerys I had pushed out their consolidated book of Laws. But the Dragon’s Laws had been the lesser body of work, with a number of the First Men definitions and legal clauses torn out of those laws.

Eddard would have to review the Laws of Winter before he made a decision about which set of laws his dynasty would follow, but he took Lord Howland’s offering as a bit of advice from their Gods. Advice that Eddard vowed to himself to consider. He would need to read the book of laws through as soon as he could to make sure he had not forgotten anything.

The second page returned with a gray, chained shadow.

“Well done, lads,” he dismissed the pages before he focused on the maester. “Maester Luwin, your reputation precedes you.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” the one trustworthy Knight of the Mind that Eddard was sure of frowned. “I was unaware that I had a reputation.”

“I understand you took yourself to the Citadel to gain an understanding of the health of women and young children. That you are considered the authority on pregnancy and birth among the majority of your sworn brotherhood.”

“I have studied with many a midwife, My King,” Maester Luwin offered demurely.

“I need a man like you in my personal service.”

“The Grand Maester—”

Eddard held up a hand, stopping Master Luwin in his tracks. “The Grand Maester is a separate matter. He is responsible for the health of the Realm, advising the Small Council, and recording Small Council meetings. That is quite enough work for one man, I should think. To add caring for the Royal Family, caring for the residents of the Red Keep, managing the rookery and ravens of the entire Red Keep, overseeing the other maesters in King’s Landing, and educating the King’s heirs? That is an unreasonable burden.

“It is, in fact, my observation that some of the Grand Maester’s duties suffer while he focuses on others. I cannot allow that trend to continue within my dynasty. I intend to separate the Grand Maester’s duties and choose different maesters to fulfill his so-called lesser duties within my Keep. Maesters in my personal service are my choice.”

Maester Luwin nodded thoughtfully.

Eddard, well aware of the man’s habits, waited him out.

“I am pleased to accept the position of healer for your royal family, Your Grace.” Maester Luwin bowed.

“Good,” Eddard nodded decisively. “We will seal our vows to each other in the morning.

“As I have not been crowned, I do not feel it appropriate to reveal my queens yet to the Realm. Nor do I have a Kingsguard. That leaves you with only me to attend, which you would currently find very boring.

“I suggest you begin your work by finding maesters you can work with in the long term. We will need one to attend the Red Keep’s ravens—this is a position of extreme trust and must be filled by a maester that you trust without reservation. I will also need at least two more healing maesters—one for the men at arms of the Red Keep and one for the general staff of the Red Keep.”

“I shall evaluate our options and bring the best choices available to your attention, Your Grace,” Luwin swore.

“Very good. I also have a major copying project or two that must be fulfilled as quickly as possible. You will want to coordinate with your sworn brothers to see them done in the time we have until I am crowned.”

“As you will, My King.”

“I will have the most pressing work for copying ready for you in the morning.”

“I will notify House Tully of my new position and devise a plan to complete this copying project within the three days we have available,” Maester Luwin promised. “I will present myself to you at dawn tomorrow for the vows, if it please you.”

“It pleases me,” Eddard confirmed. “We will speak at dawn.”

Maester Luwin bowed one last time and left.

“It seems like three days is not enough time for all you need done before you are crowned,” Prince Oberyn observed as the third—and final course, because it was dessert—was laid out.

“Three days is a bitch,” Eddard muttered honestly.

Prince Oberyn fell back dramatically into his seat and laughed, long and loud. Eddard and Princess Mariah exchanged amused looks at the antics of the youngest member of their company.

“Traditions bring comfort to the masses,” Eddard allowed. “I will be ready.”

“If you need help, there is much I would do for Ashara’s sake,” Princess Mariah offered.

“You have my thanks.”

-*-

“My King, are you ready to retire?” Myrsden leaned in to ask him discreetly. “Lady Whent is prepared to escort us to your rooms.”

“Very ready,” he admitted.

Eddard stood. The Hall of a Hundred Hearths fell silent immediately.

“My fellow Westerosi,” there, that was a neutral enough greeting. “It has been a long ride after an even longer war.” Fuck, they would need a treaty written and signed to actually end the War. “There is a great deal of work for us to do to ensure the future peace of the Realm. Work that must be done quickly with forethought and fierce adherence to duty.”

Was that enough to make it clear he was going to be arranging a lot of marriages? He hoped so.

“The work of peace begins tomorrow. Early. Enjoy your evening, but we must all be ready to put in the work that a peaceful future requires of us.”

His Northern Lords clapped him out of the room, with their southron counterparts reluctantly following their lead.

“My King,” Lady Whent greeted him with a curtsy just outside of the Hall of a Hundred Hearths. “I have placed you in Kingspyre Tower. The Lords of the North are housed in this tower as well. There are four floors currently prepared for habitation. Your lords are being housed in the top and bottom of these levels. The middle two are for you, your queens once you name them, and any household you have.

“If it pleases you, the upper floor I set aside for you has many sleeping chambers, while the lower level has a massive solar. I had my builders cut out a small antechamber from the rest of the solar for security and to control access to your space.”

“May I see it?”

“Of course, My King.”

She led Eddard and his party—currently Robert Baratheon, Myrsden, and Maester Luwin—into Kingspyre Tower and up to his temporary solar.

“If you do not approve of the antechamber, there is a second room of this size on the other side of the hall on this level.”

The antechamber was larger than the solar he had used during his entire time as the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. The solar beyond the antechamber was, somehow, even more massive.

“I have been in keeps with ballrooms smaller than this,” Robert offered.

Eddard nodded his silent agreement.

The room was well appointed. The furniture had seen better days, but it was still in respectable shape. There was a massive desk with a decadent backdrop of windows and four separate seating areas with a variety of couches, chairs, and tables.

“Can I see the other one?”

“Of course, My King.”

The other possible-solar was just as large as the other one, as promised.

“Have your builders separate this room as well,” he ordered Lady Whent. “Just two simple wooden walls with doors. First wall here,” he held out his arms to indicate his desired placement. “The new room will need as many work tables and as much light as you can fit for the copying projects Maester Luwin will be overseeing on my behalf.”

“I will coordinate with Maester Luwin in regard to his and his team’s needs,” Lady Whent swore.

Eddard nodded. “Second wall, here. That chamber will need a table large enough for a dozen people who do not trust each other.” Because at some point he would need to meet directly with his Lords Paramount about the changes that he would be making to all of Westeros. “And chairs,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

“My master builder is waiting,” she assured him. “I will have a readiness estimate for you at breakfast.”

“You have my gratitude, Lady Whent.”

“My King,” she curtsied. “Shall we continue to your rooms?”

His temporary sleeping chambers were guarded by a pair of men he recognized from Winterfell, which was a relief. The chambers themselves had a large receiving room in the front, a private privy, an entire wardrobe room, and a separate room with both a private work area and a bed. The bed was up a set of four stone steps from the desk to give each space a sense of isolation from the other.

“Have you checked the room?” he asked Myrsden.

“Before I fetched you from dinner,” Myrsden nodded.

“I might have jumped on the bed myself,” Robert offered, “but I kept my shoes off the sheets. I swear it, Your Grace.”

Eddard shook his head and pushed the larger man toward the door. “Go the fuck to bed. Your own bed.”

Robert laughed and left.

Then, Maester Luwin returned to the lower level with Lady Whent, leaving him alone with Myrsden.

“The Daynes are waiting in one of the empty bedchambers on this level,” Myrsden told him. “I thought it would be more discrete for them to leave the feast early rather than for everyone to see them walking into the tower after you had arrived here.”

“You are brilliant, Myrsden.” Eddard clapped the man on his shoulder in gratitude. “Show them in, please.”

Myrsden left to fetch House Dayne, and Eddard was completely alone for the first time in longer than he could remember. He was a mess. He had not seen Ashara in—he did not want to think on it. His only saving grace in this situation was that his mess was entirely internal and therefore no one else could see it.

Ashara was the first one through his door, and she came directly into his arms.

“I am so sorry, I am so sorry, I am so sorry,” she repeated over and over again.

He wanted to dismiss her apologies, but he knew that to be the wrong course for them as a couple because she did, in fact, have things to be sorry for. She had participated in the keeping of his sister away from House Stark.

“I forgive you.”

“Eddard!” she complained.

He pulled back to look down into her face. “I do. You were following your king, doing as he ordered. Despite that, you gave me enough hints to figure out what was happening. I only figured it out as I was staring down Varys the Spider while he offered to find you for me, which was my own failing, but I did figure it out.”

“I hate that Spider,” Ashara said with a glare.

“I cannot blame you,” Eddard admitted, “and I am fairly sure he is guilty of treason as well.”

“And you brought him with you?” Ashara asked. “And Pycelle?”

“I can hardly execute them for treason if I let them get away,” he pointed out.

“Right, right.” Ashara agreed and pulled away to wave the rest of her family further into the room. She took a small black-haired boy from her brother, Ser Arthur. “I present you with your son, Jon Stark, My King. Our future Warden of the North,” she hesitated. “Or crown prince.”

“Warden of the North, I should think,” Eddard agreed as he accepted his firstborn into his arms. Jon was so tiny. So fragile. So young. But Eddard was well aware of his son’s potential. This time Jon would grow up entirely loved and would reach his fullest potential.

Eddard met his beloved wife’s lovely purple eyes. “Thank you.”

“Eddard!” she complained again, going so far as to wring her hands.

“I mean it. Thank you. For him. For being here. For being willing to listen to my side of things.”

Her purple eyes went soft. “You are not the only one who has done damage to this relationship, my love.”

He nodded and sat on a couch with his son in his arms. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Ashara nodded and sat with him. “As you know, Lyanna was horrified by Rhaegar crowning her Queen of Love and Beauty at the Tourney of Harrenhal. They had met when he found her dumping the armor of the Knight of the Laughing Tree, but she had never expected to see him again, much less that.”

Eddard had never had the order of events confirmed for him as fact, but when she said was in line with what he had guessed on his first time around.

“She went to Princess Elia privately to apologize and offer her the Crown of Love and Beauty.”

That…sounded like Lya.

“Elia refused the Crown, of course, and they got to talking. They became friends and eventually quite dear to each other.”

Eddard was confused. “Lya ran off with Rhaegar for Elia?”

“Princess Elia had a friend who desperately wanted out of an arranged marriage and a husband with an unrelenting desire for a third child that she could not physically bear for him herself and expect to survive. The Iron Throne has the right to interfere with matches as the regent of Westeros sees fit. Elia suggested the match to Rhaegar.

“We knew Lord Rickard would be in the Riverlands for Brandon’s wedding,” Ashara said. “Rhaegar was supposed to ask Lord Rickard for his daughter’s hand. I still do not know why he did not.”

“How did Baelish find out about it?”

“Who?”

Right, Eddard frowned. That was something he had learned in his previous life, way too late for him to do anything about it. “Petyr Baelish, Lord of the Fingers, the former ward of Riverrun. He is the one who told Brandon that Rhaegar had kidnapped Lyanna.”

Ashara frowned at her brother.

“Lyanna had snuck away from your father’s forces and gone off alone to see the Isle of Faces, Your Grace.” Ser Arthur shifted forward in his seat. “We ran into her by happenstance on our way to Riverrun—Ashara told you why we were going there. Prince Rhaegar insisted on escorting her wherever she was going. That it would be unseemly to make her proceed alone but, looking back, we should have returned her to your father immediately.

“I do know Lady Lyanna sent Lord Rickard a raven from an inn so he would not worry over her when she fully realized the length of the trip. He should have gotten it at Riverrun.”

Eddard nodded. Baelish must have read the raven.

Possibly Lord Tully, too. Which made him allowing Brandon and father to run off to face the Mad King in ignorance akin to them killing Eddard’s family with their own hands.

“But we went to the Isle of Faces—Prince Rhaegar, Lady Lyanna, myself and Ser Oswell.”

“She had been having Dreams,” Eddard recalled vaguely.

He had thought the Dreams were nothing more than pre-marriage jitters. He remembered that he had been embarrassed that his sister had mentioned them in the only official family letter he would be getting from Winterfell that moon. He had been so blind.

As the young always were, he reminded himself. But it was no comfort.

“Lady Lyanna sought understanding of her gifts from the Green Men,” Ser Arthur continued. “Rhaegar was obsessed with certain ancient prophecies and was interested in the Isle as well. It is easy to see why Lady Lyanna did not even have to try to turn Rhaegar from sense. She scarcely mentioned her destination before he had us turned around to go with her.

“The Green Men trained her for three moons. She was the only one of us who could understand their speech.” Arthur blinked into space for a moment.

Going to the Isle of Faces with only three other people had to be a nightmare. The isolation; the faces, forever staring; the terror of meeting new races. What did Green Men even eat? Eddard had long ago decided that he did not need to know.

“At the end of her training, Lady Lyanna demanded that Rhaegar marry her to ensure peace between their Houses. He did. Gladly. They were married by a Septon in front of her Laughing Tree.”

“Which Septon?” Eddard interrupted to ask.

“Septon Grandin in Harrentown, Your Grace,” Ser Arthur said.

“Is he still there?”

“If not, it is not because of us.”

Eddard nodded.

Ser Arthur cleared his throat. “From the Isle, we went to Winterfell. Lady Lyanna led us there using hidden paths only she knew. Lord Benjen hid us in the crypts. We were waiting for you. We thought Lord Benjen had written to you about us. To end the war.”

“He never wrote to me,” Eddard admitted angrily.

How easily could Benjen have ended the war? Too easily for Eddard to forgive his brother for his decision against it. There was simply no reason good enough to let so many thousands of good people be killed or maimed for life over a lie.

“We realized later that we must have just missed you leaving with your bannermen. By weeks at the most.” Ser Arthur looked frustrated. “But it was too late.

“Lady Lyanna was having her first mother’s sickness, and Rhaegar insisted we go to Dorne so Lyanna and Elia could be wed to each other, as they had sworn that they would, on top of both women to Rhaegar. We argued, all four of us, but Rhaegar insisted that the best path forward for the Realm would be found in Dorne. We sailed south from Barrowton to Starfall.”

“Were you recognized?”

“No. Ser Oswell handled the arrangements in Barrowton and we used false names the entire trip.

“But.” Arthur frowned and shook his head. “The heavier she became with child, the more Lady Lyanna became worried about House Stark. About you.”

“It probably did not help her concern that we were not hiding the war from all of you at Starfall, as Lord Benjen had been at Winterfell,” Ashara offered, exasperated. “The day she realized Brandon and your father were dead because she had run off to meet the Green Men without asking—Lady Lyanna did not speak for weeks after that. She barely ate.

“She Dreamed the War, I think. Then your raven came, and she insisted she had to come too and that, as a royal princess, she outranked us so we had to let her go.” Ashara rolled her eyes.

Eddard almost wanted to grin. That declaration was the most the Lady Lyanna of This Crisis had sounded like the Lya he knew this whole time. Other than running off to meet a Green Man without a thought in her head. That was Lya to the bone.

“Is that how she lost her child?” he asked, because he needed to know. “Starving herself and unnecessary travel?”

“If anyone could have carried a child on the trip we made, it would have been Lyanna,” Ashara assured him. “She was a very strong carrier.” Then Ashara wilted. “It was Gerold Hightower.”

“The White Bull?” Eddard asked. “I was told that no one had seen him.”

Ashara looked to Arthur. Both siblings looked at their so-far silent oldest brother. Lord Dayne waved his hand in permission.

“He arrived at Starfall after your ravens reached us,” Ser Arthur offered. “Walked in, looking truly worn to the bone, to find servants packing for our trip. We knew we were in direct conflict with Prince Rhaegar’s last orders, but none of us thought he knew of those orders.

“Until he started yelling.”

“He killed a dozen servants before Ser Oswell urged us to investigate,” Ashara said. “Unfortunately, Lady Lyanna had beaten us there. When we arrived, Hightower was shaking her. He slapped her so hard that she fell.”

“I caught her,” Ser Arthur took the tale back up. “I feared she was dead. Oswell held the Bull off while ‘Shara, Wylla the wet nurse, and Septa Lenore got Lady Lyanna out of there, to the maester.”

“Lya lost her son due to the White Bull’s violence upon her person,” Eddard clarified.

Ashara took his hand. “Yes.”

Had the White Bull slapped Lyanna around the first time? Had she been beaten by a Kingsguard as well as raped by a royal heir? Had these crimes against her been the reason for the physical weakness that brought her end the last time?

“Oswell lost half a hand before I stepped in and ended Gerold Hightower,” Ser Arthur said.

“The White Bull is dead then,” Eddard nodded, considering. House Dayne would never recover from the shame of assisting Prince Rhaegar with his crimes. Especially if Arthur killing the White Bull got out. Not even Ashara being his queen would save them, and it would stain her children as well. “It would be best for House Dayne if no one hears this story.”

All three Daynes in the room agreed vigorously. “We threw his body into a scavenger’s nest.”

“Good,” Eddard approved. “The White Bull never arrived in Starfall. He was lost somewhere in the Dornish desert.” Did such a mystery serve his reign long term? “In five years or so, you will find his armor in the desert and return it to King’s Landing with apologies.

“And where my sister was kept was a complete mystery to you,” he told Ashara and her Lord brother. “Ser Arthur and Ser Oswell showed up with her at Starfall an unspecified time after Rhaegar was reported dead.”

“As you will, My King,” Lord Dayne confirmed on behalf of his entire House. “Now, what is this we hear about you marrying a Fish?”

Eddard threw his head back and groaned—softly, because Jon had fallen asleep in his arms.

“Robert had been defeated by Randyll Tarly at the Battle of Ashford.” The three Daynes nodded. “Robert then turned his forces north to join mine and Lord Jon’s armies. But he was wounded and ended up hiding in the town of the Stoney Sept.

“I knew Aerys wanted Robert’s head, most of all, for whatever reason. I had heard that his Hand, Lord Jon of House Connington, had been seen heading for Stoney Sept with a large force. A force Lord Arryn and I could not best with the men and time we had. But Lord Tully was supposed to be my ally. And he was holding all of his bannermen in reserve at Riverrun.”

“You and Lord Jon went to Riverrun,” Ashara guessed.

“Yes, it was the obvious solution at the time,” Eddard admitted. “But Lord Tully refused us. He would only help us if we were family, as he claimed that was the way things were done in the Riverlands.

“Lord Jon agreed to marry a Fish maiden easily, but I told Lord Tully and his brother, Ser Brynden, that I was already married. Because you and I had met beneath the tree in Sisterton,” he said directly to Ashara.

She nodded.

“But Lord Tully declared that the only legally binding marriages were those completed by a Septon. He accused me of lying, of making excuses. He accused House Stark of deliberately disrespecting House Tully and the Riverlands by refusing to honor our previous agreements because of Brandon’s recklessness.” That last was an accusation that Eddard was now certain had been a confession more than anything else. “It was a mess. Lord Connington was closing in on Robert. Tully would not leave me alone to think. And Ser Brynden taking my side only made things worse. Finally, I agreed. I thought saying words in front of Tully’s holy man was nothing to saving Robert’s life.”

“I agree,” both male Daynes admitted.

“Then, after the wedding, Tully insisted on witnessing the Bedding. He would not release his bannermen to me without it.”

“I hope Lord Tully is on the list for execution,” Ashara said tightly.

“Lady Catelyn gave me a son,” Eddard pointed out. Robb made Hoster Tully his blood kin, whether he liked it or not. “From the one time we were together. Robb’s existence keeps Lord Tully’s head safe from me.” Lord Tully was, in fact, House Dayne’s bloodkin too, because of Jon.

Ashara made a face.

“But. House Tully will be attained. Hoster and Edmure will be sent to the Watch. Lady Catelyn with either go to the Faith or take an actual husband. I need to discuss Lord Arryn’s marriage with him before I decide about Lady Lysa.”

“And little Robb Rivers that the Cat-Fish keeps bragging about?” his wife demanded.

“Unless you are wildly opposed, Robb Stark will be the founder of House Stark of the Rivers,” he offered. “We will raise him until he is of an age to foster, then he will foster in Riverrun with his regent to learn his lands. He will become Lord Paramount at sixteen.”

“The same as Jon with Winterfell?”

“Probably,” Eddard allowed.

“Then they foster at eleven, Lordship at sixteen, and marriage at eighteen,” Ashara countered.

“If it please you,” Eddard agreed.

Ashara nodded firmly.

“Will you be taking three wives?” Lord Dayne asked. “Kings of Winter typically take more than one wife after a war of conquest and, unless I am entirely confused, you are the last of your House’s male line alive and eligible to sire noble children.”

Eddard nodded to his good-brother. He did not see a fate for Benjen that did not include life at the Wall.

“I had planned three,” he admitted. He held up a finger. “My love match with Ashara.” A second finger joined the first. “Queen Rhaella, since the Pact of Ice and Fire and the treaty that brought the North into the care of the Iron Throne both promised Stark/Targaryen marriages that have never happened. Those documents have to be included in my complaint against House Targaryen because they legitimize me taking the Iron Throne beyond my so-called conquering, so I have to resolve them as well.”

Ashara tilted her head from side to side in consideration before nodding. “If you do not marry her, you will be just as guilty of violating those pacts as House Targaryen is.”

“Agreed,” Eddard held up a third finger. “Lady Janna Tyrell of the Reach. Lord Mace Tyrell—”

Ashara snorted.

Eddard raised an eyebrow at her, but continued. “Lord Mace Tyrell violated a lot of laws with his Siege of Storm’s End. His House will lose a great deal because of him. Marrying his sister is the best solution I have been able to find for protecting the Reach from a rebellion of their own.”

“Not Cersei Lannister?” Arthur questioned. “Is House Lannister not in the same position as House Tyrell with their Sack of King’s Landing?”

Oh, wow, someone outside of the North who knew the Laws of War. What in the frozen hells?

“Cersei Lannister would murder my other wives to advance herself.” Eddard knew that for a fact. She may not yet be that vile, vain creature he met the first time around, but he did not think it would take much to get her there. “I cannot allow her that close to any of my queens. I will not even tolerate her as one of my queens’ ladies.

“I believe I have convinced Lord Lannister that marrying his daughter to the new Lord Baratheon would be the best course for her, over being third in the pile as it were. I will find out in my meeting with him tomorrow.”

Eddard eyed Ashara, “I had hoped the three of you could follow the traditions of the Queens of Winter and raise all of my children communally and deeply loved.”

Ashara grinned. “Of course, I will love your sons. I cannot wait to hold my second son, Robb Stark, in my arms.” She frowned at him. “As long as I do not have to deal with Catelyn Tully.

“I understand that she was following her father’s orders, as all maids must, but I will not tolerate her at our Court or in our bed.”

“I would prefer to never see or touch her again,” he admitted. “She called me Brandon multiple times during the Bedding. If there had not been enough time between her last meeting with Brandon and our bedding that should would have been showing if he had impregnated her, I would question Robb’s paternity.”

Ashara’s nose squished up in disgust.

Ser Arthur and Lord Dayne’s mouths had actually dropped open in shock.

“She called you your brother’s name at your Bedding? That is unseemly,” Ashara concluded.

“What are House Dayne’s intentions now, Lord Dayne?”

“We will be loyal to the Royal House Stark,” his good-brother said simply. “I would prefer it if you would release Ser Arthur from the Kingsguard so that we may fulfill our original intention of him taking Starfall from me so that I may pursue my educational goals for Westeros.”

Eddard considered that. “Would you be willing to run a school in King’s Landing for the young nobles of Westeros? I imagine that I will be doing an extensive amount of fostering to maintain the peace. I need someone to take charge of the heirs’ and heiress’s education.”

“That would be amazing, Your Grace,” Lord Dayne agreed slowly. “Standard education, completed as a group, would bring nobles across Westeros together as surely as friendships forged in war have in the past, only without the damage war does to all participants.”

“Does this fulfill your goals?” Eddard asked. “I do intend to move the Citadel to King’s Landing as well.”

“Good,” Ser Arthur grunted darkly.

“With the Citadel in King’s Landing, yes, Your Grace. This plan will serve my goals in ways I had not considered possible.”

“Very good.” Eddard checked that off his mental list of concerns.

“I cannot allow Lord Tully’s denial of the religious rights of First Men to stand,” Eddard concluded. “House Tully must be punished once I am fully invested as king. No matter who may have decided to stand against me.

“Lady Ashara, will you be my first Queen?” he asked her formally.

“Without hesitation, my love.”

That was a relief.

“Did Septon Grandin notify the High Septon about my sister’s first wedding?” he asked suddenly.

The Lords of House Dayne exchanged concerned looks.

“Of course, Your Grace,” Ser Arthur confirmed. “He had mentioned at the time that he was required to do so.”

“Meaning the High Septon could have ended Robert’s Rebellion at any time.” Eddard shook his head. “That will have to be dealt with, too.”

“You should remove the High Septon and the Most Devout from the board,” Ser Arthur advised. “Permanently.”

“I still do not understand why House Targaryen allowed a second king to stand during their reign of Westeros,” Lord Dayne offered.

“I cannot tolerate a second king in Westeros, that is true,” Eddard allowed. Unless. He could declare himself Emperor and allow all of the Great Houses to return to royalty. That would be a complicated bit of business but a united Westeros certainly did meet the definition of an empire.

He would have to consider the angles carefully.

“Can you carry out a whisper campaign against the High Septon and the Most Devout?” he asked his extended family. Regardless of what else he decided, the Faith had to be gutted to protect the religious rights of anyone following a religion other than the Faith. “They could have ended the war at any point. It was their divine duty to protect the lives and peace of Westeros. They did not even try.”

With the Faith out of power, Eddard would have to ensure he had people in place to track the marriages his vassals entered into. And he would have to make it clear that the betrothals of his vassals all had to come to the Iron Throne for approval before the marriages were held, or those marriages would not be either legal or binding. Both were rights the High Septon had somehow maintained over his flock even after House Targaryen had united Westeros. He was sure there were other rights and powers the Faith had that he would have to investigate and return to the Iron Throne.

He would have to add that investigation and restoration to The List.

“It grows late; you should leave. As quietly as you can,” Eddard said.

As loath as he was to part with his wife and son, hiding them was the safest thing he could do for them until he was crowned.

“No need to stoke the Fish’s ire,” Ashara agreed. “He has already attempted to deny House Dayne entry to this gathering altogether. It would be unjust to push him into outright treason and assassination.”

“If I could take his head, I would,” Eddard admitted.

Then he took a deep breath and held it in an attempt to calm himself.

His composure cracked when Ashara took their son from him and passed him off to her brother. She filled his arms easily, comfortably. As if she had been made for him to hold. She wiped away the one tear that had escaped his control.

“Lady Whent is planning a tourney to celebrate your coronation,” she told him softly.

Eddard groaned and dropped his head to her shoulder. He fucking hated tourneys. “And so, we will celebrate the end of a war by killing more people?”

Ashara laughed at him softly. “It is the first rule of large gatherings. Give them something to do, or they will do it for you.”

“And their inevitable choices for self-occupation will not serve you,” he finished. It had been the North’s policy for army management for time immemorial.

“Fine,” Eddard sighed. “We will also have three royal weddings and countless noble weddings to carry out before we disperse.”

“More tourneys.” Ashara grinned.

Eddard rolled his eyes. “Does Prince Oberyn care for the bastards he fathers?”

Ashara was briefly startled by his question—nearly as started as he had been by his own asking.

“Yes,” she agreed. “He has four natural daughters by four different mothers, but loves all of his girls deeply. Why?”

Eddard blew the air out of his mouth hard enough to make his lips flutter with the force of it. “Well, my best friend has chosen life in exile over ascending the Iron Throne. I need a new one.”

Ashara laughed.

“Prince Oberyn is similar enough to Robert to be a comfort, but different enough that I will not conflate the two of them,” Eddard continued. “My least favorite part of Robert is his irresponsibility towards the children he constantly fathers. I could not abide to have another friend like that.”

“Please let me be there when you inform Oberyn that you have decided he will be your best friend,” Ashara said urgently. “I beg you, please.”

“Us!” Ser Arthur corrected his sister.

“Allow all of us to be there when you tell Oberyn that he is your new best friend,” Lord Dayne seconded his brother.

“Mayhaps all of Dorne should stand witness,” Eddard mused, to their mirth. “So that there will be no doubt as to my intentions.”

He saw them out, reluctantly, only to find Myrsden waiting for him outside the door. “Myrsden? Do you have quarters?”

“Yes, of course, just down the hall.” The man waved vaguely. “I simply have more meeting requests than either of us expected and came seeking your wisdom.”

He felt shaken. “There are so many Objectors?”

“No, My King, for the morrow.”

“Do you have any Objectors down?” There had to be several among the Reach and Crownland lords, certainly; they needed reassurance that they would not be punished for existing.

“Some. Not for tomorrow, but the biggest name I currently have for Day Two is Lord Velaryon.”

Not a surprise. “If my supporters feel that they need a meeting with me tomorrow, then I will assume they are correct, for now. Allow all of them half of an hour. Except House Tyrell, who will break their fast with me, and House Lannister, who will share my luncheon. Both meals will be private.”

He would need to find himself a scribe amongst the many Gray Knights currently wandering Harrenhal to record the other meetings.

Actually, he had staff for that.

“Have Maester Luwin find me an official scribe to take notes of my meetings, starting after first meal tomorrow.”

“Of course, Your Grace. A permanent position?”

“Preferably,” Eddard admitted. “For now, fast, accurate, and discreet will do.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“Allow me six hours of sleep in your scheduling tomorrow.”

Myrsden chuckled. “My King forgets that these are Andal Lords. I will give the fluff that offer no obvious value to your rule the most inconvenient and uncomfortable times—for them—and they will choose a different day. Or cancel all together.”

“May the Gods prove you right.”

Myrsden Yew bowed out of the room. Eddard hoped the man found his bed soon because that was his entire intention. He barely made it through his evening rituals before the lull of washing his hands and face had him falling into bed fully clothed.

 

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