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“I just don’t understand why you must take the… the boy with you.”
They had been having this conversation on and off for the past week yet he still would not tell Catelyn the truth, could not tell her the truth.
Two moons had passed since that terrible letter had arrived, bringing the worst news that the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros had ever heard. The three hills of King’s Landing spewing forth an inferno that had stolen the lives tens of thousands, the King and his family included. It had burnt with the green fires of the gods themselves, reports claimed. Among the dead were Lords Stannis and Renly, Lord Tywin Lannister and all his decedents save the imp, and Jon and Lysa Arryn, his foster father and good sister.
Grief would come later, after the true scale of the tragedy have been uncovered and the consequences began to unfold, after the crater was cleared of debris and the situation began to mellow. For now, the very future of the Kingdoms lay balanced on a knife edge. Already the Iron Islands had sought to prey on the chaos the sudden power vacuum had left. After Lannisport had burnt, Seaguard and Fair Isle were captured by the reavers, with further raids targeting as far south as the Shield islands that guarded the mouth of the Mander. He was thankful that the North had been spared from the carnage.
The entire leadership of the Iron Throne had died in the cataclysm. The rumours claimed it burnt with flame brighter even than the Doom of Valyria, the glow in the clouds visible across the narrow sea, and when the fires finally faded all that was left of the three hills of King’s Landing was a hollow a league in diameter.
The latest news out of Old Town had the Head Septon of the Stary Sept in claiming this as divine punishment for the dethroning of the Dragon Kings, citing the doctrine of exceptionalism and pointing to reports of dragons seen fleeing the flames as proof, though Ned knew better than to believe those tales.
But if they are true…
No, the dragons are dead, they have been for a century and a half.
His good-father Lord Hoster Tully had called for a great council to convene at the damned castle of Harrenhal to sort the issue of succession peacefully, at which all claims would be heard, and all claimants assessed. That was why Jon Snow must come with them.
He had gone through the possible claimants to the throne more times than he could possibly count in the fortnight since the council had been called. Viserys would be favoured most likely, the Lords of the Crownlands had never been fond of Baratheon rule and the Velaryons where particularly stubborn when it came to defiance against Lord Stannis. Edric Storm would hold a strong claim as heir to Robert. Him or Shireen, though neither babe had seen more than two name days. It is likely they will try to merge their claims through marriage.
Ned Stark would support the more popular of the two. Jon would only be brought forth if Viserys showed his father’s temperament as well as gaining enough favour with the loyalist lords to carry the council.
A gentle touch on his shoulder brought him out of his musings. He looked back to Cat, her hair aflame against the white of the bed linins and he remembered the conversation he was trying to avoid.
“With luck you never will understand.” he muttered before kissing her on the brow. It was cruel on both of them, his biggest failure, his greatest regret. But he could see no way forward on the issue. Not without telling the truth.
Mayhaps it wasn’t so dangerous now. With Robert’s death the threat had certainly lessened, but he knew not how Viserys would react to learning of their shared nephew, nor did he know how the realm at large would feel about the truth. No, he thought, it is a last resort, a final desperate move for if all else fails.
“Come, we have guests to entertain.” Lords had been coalescing in Winterfell for the past two weeks, and the outriders had informed them only yesterday that Lord Umber would arrive some point today. Once the Greatjon was here they would set off south. Almost every major Lord and Lady and Master of a Keep was here, only Lord Jorah and Lady Dustin would not be joining them for the council, insisting the Greyjoy threat to too great for them to leave their lands, though Maege Mormont was here to represent Bear Island.
***
A moon’s turn of hard riding later Lord Stark found himself entering the twisted and blackened ruin of the great castle of Harrenhal. Once the seat of Kings, it had fallen a long way in the past three centuries. No keep had seated more lords under the watchful eyes of the Dragon Kings than this, and even he now began to believe in the curse supposedly left behind by Black Harren. The last of the Whents had been caught up in the eruption of the three hills. Some cousin to mine own children no doubt.
Ned found himself inescapably drawn into the past as he rode into Harenhal’s main yard, the bustle as lively as it had been during the accursed false spring. It was here that it all went wrong, so many years before.
He was directed by a steward to a tower that would house the Northern contingent of the council. They had arrived late, only the Dornish were yet to gather. Even Lord Harlaw was already in attendance, the Iron Island’s sole representative, here in spite of his liege lord’s actions. He was here to argue for the dissolution of the Seven Kingdoms.
Their own slow arrival was due in part to the two boys that he had brought with him. Both Jon and Robb were strong riders for their age, but it was easy to forget that they had barely seen six name days each. Catelyn had remained in the North, overseeing the lands and caring for Sansa, who was acting as the Stark in Winterfell.
Night had fallen now, a crescent moon slicing through the starry sky. He crept towards the boy’s chamber and was surprised to hear them still awake. “-heard from a stable hand that Lord Hogg’s son had seen a dragon above the fires of King’s Landing!” Robb whispered in an excided fury.
Jon snorted. “And did he see mermaids too? What about grumpkins and snarks? I heard Lord Umber telling a Norry chieftain that a wildling he executed two moons ago saw an Other, do you believe them too?”
Ned had to supress his own snort at Jon’s solemn earnestness. Was I that serious at his age? Robert would no doubt say he was. A burst of pain shot though him as he realised that he would never see his former friend again. For all that they had drifted apart in the dying days of the rebellion, he still mourned for the boy he once had known.
In the cloying darkness of his own chambers, the thoughts that had been battering away at him for the journey south reared their head again.
The Reach and Casterly Rock would decide the future of the realm, of that he was certain. The Lord Tyrell would oppose both Shireen and Edric for their Florent mothers, and even if they did not, the Reach was always the base of Targaryen power. But the Reach was also notoriously fractured, with the Tyrell’s in the weakest position of any Lord Paramount, a position that had only weakened over the few short years of Robert’s rule. Could Lord Florent persuade enough Reacher Lords that they would do better under his stewardship? He could not say for certain.
The Westerlands were another prospect entirely. For half a century Tywin Lannister had been the most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms, his unquestioned leadership over his vassals left no room for dissent among the Lords sworn to Casterly Rock. Now that he was gone, there was a gulf in the den of the lion. Rumours of a power struggle between Lord Kevan and the Imp had been the talk of every tavern south of the Neck. Who would be better for me? He did not know.
How I despise politics.
He growled the thoughts away. He had no mind for intrigue, that was the realm of Jon Arryn, of Hoster Tully. Even father would be better suited for this roll than him.
Viserys Targaryen arrived with an entourage lead by Lord Velaryon’s brother. Two dozen lords and lordlings stood behind them, sons of proud houses all, many who had once been powerful, but who had declined in prestige since the death of the Mad King. But as the days ground on, still the Dornish did not appear.
His days consisted of meeting with his vassals to hear their views or persuade them of his vison, and treating with the other great lords. Hoster Tully was of the same mind as him. Both of them had prospered under Baratheon rule, and were keen to keep their influence. They were split as to which Baratheon to back.
“Backing the bastard would set a dangerous precedent.” Hoster claimed. “It may inspire other bastards to kill their family, a threat that you of all people must be wary of. I have heard how you treat yours”
Ned bristled at that but made no retort. “A son of King Robert’s blood comes before a daughter of his brother. Marry the two and merge their claim.”
“Your aversion to politics will kill you some day.” Hoster accused. “A marriage between Robb and Shireen would be far more advantageous. You would pass up the chance to make you son King?”
Yes, my Lord, I would.
In the end, a promise to pursue a match between Sansa and Edric persuaded the old man to back the boy. Not that he intended for a betrothal to go through. Tying his family to the crown was more dangerous than ever.
***
“Tyrion Lannister, son of the late Lord Tywin to see you.” Said Jory Cassel, on duty outside the room he was using for a solar. He nodded to let the man in.
“Your guard is misinformed.” Tyrion said as he sauntered in, casually taking a seat. “It’s Lord Lannister now.”
“Your uncle would dispute that.”
“My uncle is wrong.”
“And you want my support to persuade him of that. He claims that he would be a better leader than you would. As I see it this is a dispute of the Westerlands, why should I get involved?.” Ned asked.
Tyrion watched the flames flicker in the fireplace. “It must be cold in the North, during the long winters. Tell me, was this last one particularly harsh? It was relatively mild in the Westerlands, or so the tell me. I don’t have much to compare it to, though the granaries of Casterly Rock are still full.”
Ned grunted.
Tyrion took that is an indication to continue. “Had it been a harsh winter, harsh enough that Winterfell starved and you were to die, would you have been gladdened for your brother Benjen to claim your seat in place of your son?”
“My brother would never-“
“-But my father’s brother has.” Tyrion interrupted. “You are known as a man of honour, a paragon of law and a stalwart of justice. Dare you stand by now and be remembered for a lying fraud?”
And what if I am? It was at time like this that he longed for Brandon the most. It was he who had been trained for lordship.
He forced himself to meet the Imp’s gaze and found a burning fire in the eyes. He heard his goodfather’s accusation echo in his ears. Precident is a dangerous thing, it must be tempered at watched as it cools. “And why should I support your claim? If Kevan Lannister wins, he could block up the western shore.”
At that Tyrion grinned. “You want Baratheon to keep power, so do I. My uncle would support Viserys. He sees King Robert to blame for the death of his brother.”
Ned conceded with a nod.
***
As he crossed the muddy courtyard of the great keep of Harrenhal he saw a crowd surrounding Viserys Targaryen.
He was young, still barely in his minority, but he had a wary confidence to his words. “Six Long Years You Toiled Under the Usurper’s Whip. He Punished His Enemies With Taxes and Trade Restrictions, Land Reductions and Forced Marriages. He Ignored His Allies, Let Them Fend For Themselves. And All the While His Court Was Filled With Lions. Hungry, Ravenous Lions, Ready to Feast on the Corpses of Once-Mighty Houses. Lord Darry, Your Brother Was But a Father to Me. Pray Tell, How Did You Fare Under The Stag?”
“Not well, my king.” replied the gruff voice of the master of Plowman’s Keep.
“Once You Were the Breadbasket of the Riverlands, and Now, Thanks to the Usurper, You Are Held in Less Regard Than the Freys of the Crossing.”
An electric hiss echoed through the crowd. He looked to see for any faces he could recognise, and he saw Lord Bracken and Lord Grafton, Belmore and Waynwood. Sutherland of the Sisters and Bulwar of Blackcrown, Tarly and Uffering, Lybar and Footly. His crowds had been growing in recent days.
“All That You Have Lost Under The Reign Of The Usurper Shall Be Restored Two-Fold! All That Was Stolen Shall Be Taken Back! Now Is The Time For Strong Leadership From A Strong King, Yet Stark Would Place A Mere Babe One The Throne. He Calls Himself Honourable, Yet At The First Sign Of Weakness, He Would Install His Puppet To Rule Us All. I Ask You This, My Lords, Would Would You Truly Look To Tree Worshiping Heathen Savages To Crown Us?”
Cries of No Rippled through the yard.
“Lord Tully Plays The Innocent Old Man, Yet He Used The Usurper’s War To Marry Both His Daughters To Lords Paramount In A Blatant Power Grab. Is This The Kind Of Villain We Want Ruling This Kingdom?”
Ned turned and fled the yard before he was recognised. If Viserys was crowned it would be a disaster for the North and her allies.
It was the Vale lords he was meeting with now. They wanted his views on the succession of the mountain kingdom in the wake of Lord Arryn’s death without a clear heir. Where Waynwood and Corbray believed that the young Harrold Hardyng’s distant relation to Jon Arryn made him the heir, the rest of the Vale disagreed, saying that the Arryns were functionally extinct and that other Houses should replace them. The leading other claimants were the Graftons of Gulltown, the economic centre of the Vale, and the Runestone Royces, the most powerful remaining house.
He had been asked to mediate the discussion of the Lords and Ladies of the Vale as a neutral party, one who was known for his honour and sense of justice, and who had been friends with the claimants as a young man.
They had ridden together in their youth. Him, Robert, Yohn and Anya. Those were simpler days, happier times. He knew Lord Myles Grafton too, had feasted with him innumerable times in the rebellion. His father had died on the end of Robert’s hammer, yet he had been a stalwart supporter of King Robert by the war’s end.
Where Anya and Yohn would favour Shireen and Edric, Lord Myles would return to Targeryen rule.
The debate raged for hours, continuing long after the sun had set and the new moon rose and fell in the sky. The Hardyng claim was thrown out quickly, as a child with only distant blood ties to the Arryns, he lacked the support to back up his claim. Ned had to step it on numerus occasions to prevent a fight from breaking out in the hall between the coastal lords who’s wealth was dependant on trade and who favoured Myles Grafton, and those who held lands in the heart of the Vale, backing the more prestigious Royce.
In the end, as the morning light rose above the blackened walls of the once-great keep, Eddard celebrated an ale with Lord Paramount Yohn Royce.
They both knew how difficult he would find his new position, but for a few sleep-deprived moments he could laugh with an old friend and forget the reason they were all here.
***
The Dornish retinue had finally been sighted marching up the King’s Road and Ned still had no idea who either they or the Tyrells would back.
He had united the North, the Riverlands, the Stormlands, most of the Vale and Westerlands, and some of the Reach behind Edric Storm. Despite this, something felt off. There was a disturbing level of optimism around Viserys’ supporters that he could not understand.
The Church was yet to formally back a claim either, though they unofficially favoured the Targaryens. One word from the Stary Sept of Oldtown and the more devout members of the coalition may leave for Viserys. He had cursed the gods more times than he could count over the past moon-and-a-half for taking Father and Brandon, and he found himself once more blaspheming under his breath.
He could hear his boys arguing from their room over who was the better fighter, Pate the Woodcock or Ser Arthur Dayne. Privately Ned felt that Jon had the right of it. Though Dayne was unrivalled in a one-on-one situation, it was a very different story when outnumbered. Pate on the other hand was the greatest fighter of the Old King’s original seven, and it was said that no King had better White Cloaks than Jaehaerys. Though no more than a peasant originally, he won the so-called War for the White Cloaks at Rogar Baratheon’s wedding to the King’s mother.
He chuckled at their antics and his heart blead for the days that it was him and Brandon or Robert having those discussions.
The castle was alive with preparations for the arrival of the Dornish, but there was almost a panic to the motions. He saw guardsmen of all liveries and banner running around, knocking on doors. Knights were in armour too. Something is wrong. He knew not what.
It was a Florent runner who told him of the reason for the activity. The words sent him into a panicked rage.
Dead.
Murdered.
He had no doubts as to who ordered the blade through Edric’s heart. None did. But without solid proof there was nothing they could do but pray that Shireen would garner the necessary votes. Ned was not hopeful. When his allies gathered later that day to affirm their support for her the hall seemed so much larger. Their voices echoed for longer.
***
Oberyn Martell lead the procession of Dornish Lords though the gates late that night but Ned did not greet the man until the following morning.
“I will not pretend to weep for the King.” He spat Robert’s title out with contempt. “But his bastard should not have been killed. We will not be supporting Visaerys’ claim to the throne.”
He was stunned by the pronouncement, surely the Red Viper of Dorne would not back Robert’s Niece.
“Of course I won’t.” he laughed. Apparently Ned had spoken his thoughts aloud.
“Surely you won’t break from the Seven Kingdoms? Dorne could never survive without trade with the Reach, especially if the Narrow Sea was blocked to traders as Tyrosh is attempting to do.”
“So the Northman does look south then.” Oberyn said, a grin stretched across his face. “You are right, we would not survive alone. But that is not out intention.” He reached for the wineskin but spat it out when he realised that it was filled with ale. “You Northerners seriously drink this swill? I don’t know what Ashara Dayne saw in you. Can you believe she actually imported this stuff to Starfall!”
Red descended over his vision as he fought to control his emotions. It had been years since that name had been said in his presence, not since Cat in those early days of their marriage when tension still engulfed them. “You Will Not Say Her Name In My Presence. I will not have her dishonoured any more than I already let her.”
Ashara Dayne was his second greatest failing. Star-crossed lovers torn asunder by war, broken by betrayals and a cascade of lies. How much truth is there to that tale? Time had worn away at his memory of those days. He could not get caught up in her memory again, to do so was a betrayal of Cat and a treachery of the wrongs he did against Ashara. He could not help but think that it was his great lie that had killed her.
“It was said that you and the fat King came to blows over the fate of my sister and her children, no?”
Ned nodded, thankful for the change in topic. That no one was punished for the disgraceful act was a black mark against them all.
“What if Aegon had lived. You would have supported his claim, yes?”
“He was the heir.” He had rebelled only to remove Aerys and Rhaegar, and to get his sister back. The children should never have been harmed.
“And if he were to make a claim now?”
“Speak plainly my Prince, riddles were never my strength. Aegon is dead.”
Oberyn smiled like a child who had found a tray of unguarded cakes. “Is he?”
By the time they parted ways his mind was still reeling with what the Dornish Prince had told him, for the first time since Edric’s murder he was hopeful that war could be averted. A marriage between Aegon and Shireen would help soothe tensions. Now it was up to him to persuade the lords that this was the best path forwards.
***
What followed was a week of debate and arguments. Every lord had their say, every landed knight and man-at-arms. Few minds were changed on the open floor of the hall of a hundred hearths. it was the corridors and the privet solars that the war of threats and promises would be won. Back-room deals and secret pacts were formed and broken and remade half a hundred times each day.
His own lords were reluctant to follow a Dragon again. Aegon’s too young, some said, you would undo all that Robert fought for, all that you fought for.
No. This is what I raised my banners for. The protection of innocents and the avenging of kin. That is what Oberyn sought to achieve. Ned could not in good faith deny him that, not when it prevented Viserys from kingship.
Not all were so convinced. The Greatjon pushed him to move for independence, Bolton was in private communication with Viserys, and Madge was stubbornly insisting that Shireen be the monarch with Aegon as Prince Consort. And that is not even to mention the other Kingdoms.
He wanted to weep.
He did weep when he realised that Robb would need to wade these murky waters at some point in the future, after he was no more than a memory on the wind and a great stone carving in the crypts.
He cursed the world and the gods that made it.
The Vale was split in three still. The Grafton faction had thrown their weight behind Visaerys, hoping to use him to usurp the Bronze Yohn. Anya Waynwood and her followers saw Shireen as Robert’s true heir. Yohn was at an impasse, he lacked the authority to command his lords and there was nothing that he could do.
Lord Florent refused to betroth Shireen to Aegon. The Tyrells demanded that he marry their daughter. Hightower claimed that the Mad King had removed Rhaegar’s line from succession. Ned felt like he had been hit in the head by Roberts hammer over and over and over again.
He was thankful that his boys were making friends at least. He saw them in the Godswood with Prince Quentin and the Yronwood heir explaining the Old Gods to them as he went to pray.
***
A thick fog lay on the castle on the day of the vote. The high towers of the keep were engulfed by cloud, white had swallowed the vast black spears. Ned could not even see across to the other side of the courtyard.
The election would be modelled after the Night’s Watch system for choosing a Lord Commander. All landholders in the realm would get a single vote to cast, and a simple majority was all that was needed. The vote would come down to a knife’s edge. Nobody knew which way the thousands of tokens would ultimately fall.
The Florents had conceded a betrothal with Aegon but would not withdraw her claim. They demanded that the boy be no more than Consort to Queen Regent Shireen. It was unclear if they could draw enough votes to prevent anyone from gaining an outright majority. It was unclear even if Aegon was more popular than Visaerys. I suppose it is fitting that such uncertainty will be explored under the thick mists of Black Harran’s keep. The seat of the everlasting kings who died in a night.
The vote took hours. He was thankful that what little wine and ale was allowed in the hall had been so heavily watered down, it would not do for them to get drunk. After placing his vote he lingered around the top of the hall, watching as the lords and ladies filed through. The low hum of pensive chatter rolled around the hall. Fog crept in through the empty windows. It was almost sombre, the tension that bled through the hall. Ned had left his boys in their chambers, guarded by most of his men. If this turned bloody, they were to flee north without him.
The votes where counted slowly, methodically. A few score Maesters going through the tokens one by one. They were sat at the head of the hall, the high table from whence Black Harran had once looked down. Would he laugh to see his castle now, or weep. Eddard did not know.
No one spoke now, not even Jon Umber or the Martell Prince, who had been good naturedly arguing over the merits of ale over wine for half the day, were making noise any more.
Aegon was pulling in a plurality of the votes, but it was unclear if he would reach the necessary majority.
The votes were tallied, and the announcement to be made now. An Archmaester of the Citadel had been sent by the conclave and it was he who now stood. A different Maester rung a gong to get the attention of the hall, but all eyes were already on the chained man in grey, waiting for him to speak.
Ned glanced around the gathered crowd and his own eyes were drawn to two children hiding at the back under a window, half obscured by the mist. He would have laughed if he wasn’t so worried. Of course they would slip the guards. He did not know why he hadn’t expected them to do it.
The three claimants were sat amongst their own supporters, eyes ever watchful for threats. The young Aegon with the Dornish, Shireen with the Stormlords and Florents, Viserys surrounded by Crownlanders.
A pin dropped here would be heard across the hall.
The Maester spoke, loud and clear and certain. “In the name of the Great Council of Harrenhal in the year two-hundred-and-eighty-eight after the conquest, on behalf of all those gathered here today, I hereby proclaim that Aegon Targeryen, sixth of his name, has majority support of the Lords and Ladies of Westeros.”
There were celebrations and curses, slapped backs and slapped tables. He lost sight of Jon and Robb only to re-find them moments later. And then, cries of alarm and fingers pointed to the sky. Ned instinctively reached for his blade, but before he could he saw it. A dragon, shimmering gold like the sun and no bigger than a house cat it flew circles above the gathered Lords. Swooping in and out of the swirling mist it danced circles into the sky before settling down on King Aegon’s shoulders.
Cries of The King, The King and Aegon the Sixth coursed through the hall as an almost galvanising quality surged through them. And then a second call was heard, a second dragon in the hall.
A second dragon as white as fresh fallen snow, with eyes of Weirwood red.
A second dragon landing on Jon Snow’s arm.
Outrage thundered around them and Lord Eddard Stark knew he had a lot of explaining to do.
I suppose I must tell Cat the truth now.
