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As the army made its way through the rolling hills west of the Twins, Ned spotted a familiar banner in the distance - the white moon and falcon of House Arryn. His heart quickened at the sight. Seven years had passed since he'd last seen Jon Arryn, the man who had been more father to him than his own.
The Vale army had made camp on a grassy plateau overlooking a winding stream. As Ned approached with a small escort, he saw Jon Arryn emerge from his tent, still straight-backed despite his advancing years. His hair had gone completely white now, but his blue eyes were as sharp as ever.
"My boy," Jon Arryn called out, his voice thick with emotion.
Ned dismounted and strode forward, clasping Jon's offered arm. "Lord Arryn." Then, unable to maintain formality, he pulled his foster father into an embrace.
"Gods, but you've grown even more serious," Jon said as they parted, studying Ned's face. "The North has left its mark on you."
"And the South on you," Ned replied, noting the fine silk tunic beneath Jon's armor. "Though you look well."
They walked together to a quiet spot beneath an oak tree, where servants had laid out wine and bread. They could hear the distant sounds of thousands of men and horses moving across the countryside.
"Tell me of your children," Jon said as they sat. "You have five of them now. How is Robb?"
Ned felt pride warm his chest. "He grows strong. Shows promise with sword and horse both. And I have two daughters now - Sansa and Arya."
"Ah yes, I heard of little Arya's birth. They say she has the Stark look?"
"Indeed. Though Sansa is all Tully." Ned paused, then added carefully, "And Jon... he has been legitimized as a Flint."
Something flickered in Jon Arryn's eyes. "Yes, I'd heard rumors. Your grandfather's doing?"
Ned nodded, feeling that old familiar guilt. "Lord Anden saw something in him. The boy saved my Sansa's life, did you hear?"
"I did." Jon took a long drink of wine. "You've raised him well, it seems."
"How is Lady Arryn? Catelyn often talks about her, and she even told me she would like to ride to King's Landing." Ned asked with the same smile, but noticed the way Jon's face fell like a rock.
"Lysa...she is alright..."Jon seemed like he wanted to say much more, before closing his mouth. "Me and her were never supposed to be together, I cannot bring her the happiness she deserves, and she cannot give me an heir." Jon said, looking mournfully, but his face quickly changed as he turned his head and looked back at Ned.
"Have you thought of bringing any of your children south, Ned? Robert keps going about fostering Robb or Sansa in King's Landing, saying this would force you to put your head out of the snow."
"My children are of the North, Jon. They are Starks, and they belong there." Ned said quietly. The last thing he wanted was to send one of his children to the South.
In the distance, a horn sounded - more troops arriving from the Riverlands. Jon used the interruption to stand, brushing crumbs from his tunic. "We should rejoin the others. Robert will be eager to see you."
As they walked back toward the camps, Ned glanced at his foster father's troubled expression. Something was troubling him, that much was clear. But Jon had always been stubborn about his burdens, preferring to bear them alone.
The crunching of hooves on dried grass made Ned turn. Benjen approached on horseback, wearing the grey and brown leathers of House Stark that reminded Ned painfully of their father. At six-and-twenty, his younger brother had grown into himself, no longer the lanky boy who'd stayed behind at Winterfell during Robert's Rebellion.
"Lord Arryn," Benjen called out as he dismounted, a hint of wolfish mischief in his smile. "I hope my brother hasn't been boring you with tales of Northern solemnity."
Jon Arryn blinked, his eyes moving between the two brothers. "Gods be good," he murmured. "For a moment, I thought I was seeing double."
Ned understood his foster father's reaction. Where once there had been subtle differences between them, the years had only strengthened their resemblance. The same long face, dark hair, and grey eyes that marked them as Starks. Even their builds had grown similar, though Benjen carried himself with a bit more lightness, less burdened by duty.
"This is my younger brother, Benjen," Ned introduced formally. "Though I believe you never had the chance to meet during the Rebellion."
"I was too busy holding Winterfell and trying to keep our dear mother from riding south herself," Benjen said, clasping Jon's arm in greeting. "She was convinced you weren't feeding Ned properly."
Jon's weathered face creased with genuine warmth. "Lady Lyarra always did have strong opinions about proper Northern nutrition. How fares your lady wife, Benjen? Barbrey Dustin, isn't it?"
Something flashed in Benjen's eyes - a mix of pride and wariness that Ned recognized from his own feelings about Catelyn. "She's well. Our son William grows stronger each day."
"Another wolf cub for The North," Jon nodded approvingly. "The Stark line grows strong again."
A rider approached at a gallop, pulling up sharply beside them. "My lords," he called out, "Lord Tully requests your presence. The vanguard has spotted Seagard's towers."
Ned exchanged a look with his brother. The time for reunions was ending; war approached. "We should move on," he said. "Robert will be waiting."
"And unlike you, dear brother, our king isn't known for his patience," Benjen added with a grin that made him look startlingly young.
As they mounted their horses, Ned noticed Jon Arryn watching them with an odd expression - something between pride and melancholy. Perhaps he was remembering two other boys, years ago, who had ridden south to war.
"The Starks ride to war again," Jon said softly. "Let us pray the gods are kinder this time."
They spurred their horses toward the main column, where the armies of three kingdoms flowed like a river of steel and leather toward Seagard. Somewhere ahead, Robert waited. And beyond him, the Iron Islands.
"Try not to look so grim, Ned," Benjen said as they rode. "We're winning this war before it's properly begun."
Ned allowed himself a small smile. Some things, at least, never changed. Including his little brother's ability to lift his spirits, even on the edge of battle.
The towers of Seagard rose towards the sky like crooked fingers as if trying to grab something from the sky. Banners snapped in the coastal wind - the golden rose of Highgarden, the crowned stag of Baratheon, and the crimson lion of Lannister. Ned's jaw tightened at that last sight, knowing Tywin Lannister waited somewhere beneath those lions.
"Quite a sight," Benjen murmured beside him. "The realm united once again."
"United against the Ironborn this time," Ned replied, watching as their own forces began to merge with the massive encampment. Northern banners - the giant of House Umber, the mailed fist of the Glovers, the bear of House Mormont, and many other House Banners - took their places alongside Southern sigils.
The ground trembled slightly, and Ned knew without looking that Lord Anden had ridden up behind them. His grandfather's massive form atop his specially-bred destrier never failed to draw attention. Already, heads were turning in their direction, conversations dying mid-sentence as the giant lord passed.
"The Southern armies look soft," Anden's deep voice rumbled. "Too much summer training, not enough winter survival."
A group of Reach knights nearby shifted uncomfortably, their gleaming armor and bright cloaks suddenly seeming gaudy under the Northern lords' boiled leather and armor.
As they rode deeper into the camp, Ned caught snippets of conversation, most revolving around Lord Anden's size. Even The Mountain's fearsome reputation seemed diminished by his grandfather's towering presence. The thought of Gregor Clegane brought a sour taste to Ned's mouth - Tywin's monsters.
But then Ned spotted Robert's banner flying over the largest tent in the center of camp, and his dark thoughts lifted. Seven years. Seven years since he'd last seen his friend, now a king. They had parted in anger after the sack of King's Landing, but time had softened those wounds.
"Your face always was easier to read than a maester's book," Benjen said with a slight smile. "Looking forward to seeing his Grace?"
"Robert is still Robert, crown or no crown," Ned replied, though he felt a smile tugging at his own lips.
They reached the center of the camp where the command tents had been erected. Ned could see Randyll Tarly's huntsman banner. Through a gap in the tents, he caught sight of Tywin himself, resplendent in crimson and gold, his cold green eyes already fixed on their approaching party.
"Lord Tywin looks like he's swallowed something sour," Benjen observed quietly.
"That's just his face," Anden rumbled, loud enough for several nearby lords to walk away quickly.
A steward hurried toward them, his eyes widening as he had to crane his neck to address Lord Anden. "My lords, His Grace is expecting you in the royal pavilion." He paused, glancing uncertainly at Anden's height. "The tent has been... raised to accommodate all guests."
Ned nodded, dismounting. In moments he would see Robert again. His friend. His king. The boy he'd grown up with, now the man who united the realm against this rebellion. As they walked toward the royal pavilion, Ned felt the years falling away. For a moment, he was back in the Vale, young and unburdened, walking to break his fast with Robert after a night of carousing.
Then he caught Tywin Lannister's cold stare again, and the present reasserted itself. This was no friendly reunion in the Vale. This was war.
But first - first, he would embrace his friend again.
Inside the royal pavilion, Ned entered first, followed by the thunderous presence of Lord Anden, who had to duck significantly to enter despite the raised tent ceiling. The gathered lords fell silent, many taking involuntary steps backward as the giant Northerner straightened to his full height.
Through the crowd, Ned spotted Robert immediately. Seven years had changed him - he'd grown heavier, his black beard now flecked with grey, but his eyes still held that same wild light Ned remembered from their youth. He was dressed in cloth-of-gold, his crowned stag emblazoned proudly on his chest, speaking with his brother Stannis when someone announced:
"Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, Lord Jon Arryn of the Vale, and Lord Edmure Tully of Riverlands."
Robert's head snapped up, his face splitting into a massive grin. "NED!" he bellowed, shoving his way through the crowd like a bull through wheat. "You frozen-faced Northern bastard!"
Ned barely had time to brace himself before Robert crashed into him, crushing him in a bear hug that drove the breath from his lungs. For a moment, they were boys again in the Vale, celebrating some triumph or misadventure.
"Seven hells, look at you!" Robert held him at arm's length, studying his face. "Still as ugly and serious as ever. Gods, it's good to see you, Ned."
"Your Grace," Ned started formally, but Robert cut him off with a laugh.
"None of that 'Your Grace' horseshit from you, Ned. Not unless you want me to start calling you 'Lord Stark' in that prissy Southern way." Robert's eyes shifted upward, and upward still, finally reaching Lord Anden's face. "And this must be the giant of the North I've heard so much about! They said you were tall, but by the Seven..."
"Your Grace," Anden rumbled, his deep voice filling the tent. Ned noticed several Southern lords flinching at the sound.
"Now that's a proper warrior!" Robert declared. "Not like these painted Southern knights who'd shit themselves at the first sight of real battle." He shot a pointed look at a group of young Reach lords, who looked flushed and annoyed that their King was speaking in such a way for them; near them was someone who Ned guessed was Lord Tyrell, but the man didn't have the physic of a warrior.
Across the tent, Ned saw Tywin Lannister watching the exchange, his face an expressionless mask. Beside him stood Gregor Clegane, the Mountain That Rides, who was for once having to look up at someone. The monster's face twisted with something ugly - hatred or fear, Ned couldn't tell.
"Come, all of you!" Robert waved them deeper into the tent. "Wine! Where's the bloody wine? We can't plan war on dry throats!"
As servants rushed to fill cups, Ned observed the gathered lords. Stannis stood rigid as ever, and the man seemed like he had never smiled before. Ned still could not understand how two brothers could be so alike. Various Reach lords preened in their fine armor, while gruff Riverlords and weathered Vale knights clustered together. The divisions were clear—north and South, old loyalties and new alliances.
"Tell me true, Ned," Robert said, pulling him aside slightly. "How's that bastard of yours? Heard he's made quite a name for himself up North."
Ned felt his body tense at the mention of Jon, but kept his face carefully neutral. "Jon is well. Lord Anden has legitimized him as a Flint."
"Ha! From Snow to Flint - better than most bastards manage. They say he caught Balon's boy?"
"Helped us capture Maron, aye. He's got a sharp eye, notices things others miss. He is here now, we brought him as a prisoner, let's hope it will make things easier for this war."
Robert grinned, clapping Ned on the shoulder. "Good lad! Proves what I always said - it's not the name that makes the man. Though I'll wager that pretty wife of yours wasn't too pleased about the legitimization."
Ned gave a noncommittal grunt, grateful when Robert moved on to discussing the war plans. Some secrets needed to stay buried, for everyone's sake. He could still remember Robert's satisfaction at the deaths of Rhaegar's other children, the way he'd called them "dragonspawn." No, Robert could never know the truth about Jon.
From the corner of his eye, Ned saw the Mountain take a menacing step toward Lord Anden, perhaps trying to establish dominance through sheer presence. Anden merely glanced down at him with the same look one might give a yapping dog.
"Something troubling you, Ser Gregor?" Anden's voice carried across the tent. "You seem unsettled. Perhaps you'd prefer smaller company? Children and women, more your usual fare?"
The Mountain's face contorted with rage, his hand moving toward his sword, but Tywin Lannister's sharp "Gregor!" froze him in place.
"Now then," Robert called out, either oblivious to or choosing to ignore the tension. Knowing Robert, Ned wouldn't be surprised if he counted on The Mountain to decide to fight Lord Anden. "Let's get to the business of crushing these squid sons! Stannis, show them your plans. And someone get Ned a proper cup of wine - we've seven years of drinking to catch up on!"
As the lords gathered around the central table where maps were being laid out, Ned felt Robert's hand clasp his shoulder. "I missed you, you dour bastard," Robert said quietly. "Should never have let seven years pass."
Ned nodded, feeling the weight of those years, of all that had happened. "Aye. Too long, old friend."
"My lords," Stannis's firm voice cut through the murmur of conversation.
"The Iron Fleet burned Lannisport," Stannis continued, his thin lips pressing together. "They believed this would be their greatest victory. Instead, it will be their undoing."
Lord Tywin's face remained impassive, but his eyes glittered dangerously at the mention of Lannisport. Ned had seen that look before, in the aftermath of King's Landing.
Stannis began positioning markers across the map. "We give them exactly what they expect - at first." He placed the bulk of their fleet near Seagard and Lannisport. "They'll see our main force gathering, exactly as they anticipate. But here..." His hands moved to several smaller markers.
"The shallow channels north of Old Wyk," Tyrion Lannister spoke up suddenly, his mismatched eyes bright with understanding. Ned watched the dwarf lean forward, studying the map intently. "Gods be good."
"Precisely," Stannis nodded. The tension in the tent grew thicker as he outlined his plan. Even Robert, usually restless during strategy meetings, listened with rare focus.
Lord Anden's deep voice rumbled from where he stood examining the map. "Bold plan. Risky. But the Ironborn won't expect mainlanders to use their own tactics against them."
"The risk of running aground-" Tywin began, but Stannis cut him off.
"Is significant," he said sharply. "Which is why I've spent the last five years having these waters carefully sounded and mapped." He spread a detailed chart across the table, and Ned saw even Tywin's eyes widen slightly at its precision.
The Mountain shifted his weight behind Tywin, still glaring at Lord Anden. The giant Northerner didn't even bother looking at him as he spoke. "Some men prefer to fight those who can't fight back. Gives them a sense of power they don't deserve." His grey eyes flicked briefly to The Mountain. "Wouldn't you agree, Ser Gregor? Though I suppose infants don't put up much resistance."
The Mountain's face purpled with rage. "Perhaps you would like-"
"Enough," Tywin's voice cut like ice. "We are here to discuss strategy. Stand Down Clegane."
"Indeed," Stannis continued, though Ned noticed a slight curl to his lip that might have been approval. "We'll split our forces into seven groups..."
As Stannis detailed the rest of his plan, Ned observed what everyone else was doing in the tent. Robert grew more excited as Stannis explained more about the plan. Tywin often looked at Lord Tyrion with a look of disdain, and Ned noticed the way the Kingslayer was standing near his little brother as if he was trying to protect him from their father.
Lord Tyrell didn't seem like he was paying attention, and Ned was sure the man would not be part of the vanguard. And always, The Mountain's hateful gaze fixed on Lord Anden, who ignored him as one might ignore a bothersome fly.
"The cost in ships will be high," Tywin observed.
"Lower than the cost of a prolonged campaign," Stannis countered. "And I'll lead the most difficult approach myself, through the channel north of Pyke."
Robert's face split into a fierce grin. "That's the way! Let them see what it means to wake the fury of the mainland!" He turned to Ned. "Your forces will join mine in the main assault. Like old times, eh?"
Ned nodded. "The North will stand with you."
"As will the Vale," Jon Arryn added.
"And the Riverlands," Edmure Tully declared, perhaps a bit too eagerly.
Lord Anden's massive frame shifted, drawing all eyes. "A question, Lord Stannis. These channels you mapped - what's their depth at the lowest tide?"
Stannis blinked, then rattled off precise measurements.
"Good," Anden rumbled. "Northern ships draw less water than Southern galleys. We'll take the narrowest channel."
The war council continued, but Ned's attention was drawn to something else - The Mountain, moving slowly around the edge of the tent, trying to position himself closer to Lord Anden. His grandfather seemed to pay no attention, but Ned noticed how he shifted his weight, keeping his great axe within easy reach.
Ned knew the Mountain was wearing thick armor; with that kind of armor, one would need to use a heavy weapon or a spear to pierce through the gaps, but Anden's axe was three times larger than a normal axe, and Ned knew his grandfather would use his weight and strength to break the Mountain's bones beneath the armor.
Finally, Robert slammed his hand on the table. "It's settled then! We attack on the new moon. Until then, drink, rest, and prepare. Tomorrow, we show these squids what it means to rouse the realm!"
As the lords began to disperse, The Mountain made his move, deliberately bumping against Lord Anden's side. The giant Northerner turned slowly, looking down at Gregor Clegane as one might regard an insect.
"Careful, little man," Anden said, his voice carrying across the now-silent tent. "You might hurt yourself, trying to grow taller than you are."
The Mountain's hand went to his sword, but Lord Anden's laugh stopped him - a sound like boulders rolling down a mountainside. "Draw that sword, pup, and I'll show you how it feels to be the small one for a change."
"Gregor!" Tywin's sharp command cut through the tension. "Attend me."
The Mountain retreated, though his face promised future violence. Ned exchanged a look with his grandfather, who merely shrugged - a gesture that made his massive frame seem to fill half the tent.
Outside the royal pavilion, the sun was setting, and the clouds turned bright red and orange. For a moment, dragons made of clouds seemed to have conquered the skies.
The coastal wind carried the smell of salt and sea, along with the distant sounds of armies preparing for war. Ned walked beside his grandfather, the giant lord's footsteps making the ground tremor slightly with each step.
"Was it wise to provoke him so openly?" Ned asked quietly once they were out of earshot. "The Mountain is a dangerous man."
Lord Anden's laugh rumbled like distant thunder. "Dangerous? Aye, to women and children perhaps. To unarmed villagers and babes at their mothers' breasts." His face darkened. "But put him against someone who can fight back, and what is he? Just a big man with an ugly temper."
Ned studied his grandfather's face, noting the controlled anger in those storm-grey eyes. It was unusual to see Lord Anden so provocative—his grandfather was never like this. He usually avoided conflict if necessary; despite his size and reputation, he preferred the bloodless approach to problems.
"You're going out of your way to anger him," Ned observed. "That's not like you, grandfather."
They stopped near the edge of the camp, where Lord Anden's massive tent had been erected. The giant lord was quiet for a long moment, watching the sun sink toward the horizon.
"I understand war, Ned," he said finally, his deep voice unusually soft. "Men die. Good men, bad men, young and old alike. But what Tywin Lannister did..." His massive hands clenched. "That wasn't war. That was cruelty for cruelty's sake. Sending that beast to murder children, to rape a princess..." He spat on the ground. "They both deserve the deepest of the Seven Hells."
"And provoking the Mountain helps achieve that how?"
A cold smile crossed Lord Anden's weathered face. "Men like Gregor Clegane can't control their rage. Eventually, he'll make a mistake. And when he does..." He left the sentence unfinished, but his meaning was clear enough.
Ned felt a chill that had nothing to do with the evening air. He recognized the strategy - push the Mountain until he snapped, creating a justified reason for retaliation.
"Tywin won't let it go unanswered if something happens to his mad dog," Ned warned.
"Tywin Lannister," Anden rumbled, "is not as clever as he thinks he is. He rules through fear because he knows no other way. But fear..." He gestured at the massive combined armies around them. "Fear only works until someone bigger comes along."
"The Old Lion's pride was wounded at Lannisport," Anden continued. "He'll want blood for that. But mark my words - his need for revenge will blind him to the bigger picture. Just as it did in King's Landing."
Ned thought of the wrapped bodies of Rhaegar's children, of Tywin's cold justification. Of Jon, safe in Winterfell, who could never know his true heritage because of men like Tywin Lannister and Gregor Clegane.
"We should focus on the war, let's end this one first and then worry about other things," Ned said carefully. "The Ironborn are the immediate threat."
"Aye," Anden agreed. "But wars end, Ned. And when this one does, remember - the lion isn't the only one with a long memory." He placed his massive hand on Ned's shoulder. "The North remembers, and winter is coming."
.
.
In his tent, Ned sat at a small wooden table, quill hovering over parchment in the flickering candlelight. The sounds of the massive army had quieted to a low murmur outside, broken occasionally by a distant laugh or the neighing of horses.
' My Lady Wife, he began, then paused, considering his words carefully.
We have reached Seagard and joined with Robert's forces. The army is massive - perhaps the largest since the Rebellion. Robert hasn't changed much in seven years, though his crown weighs on him more than he shows.
He dipped the quill again, remembering Robert's booming laugh, the way his old friend had embraced him as if no time had passed. But there had been new lines around Robert's eyes, a heaviness that hadn't been there before.
Lord Anden has already made his presence felt among the Southern lords. I fear he and Tywin Lannister's Mountain may come to blows before this is done. Keep a close eye on the children. Tell Robb to mind his training, but not to push Jon too hard in the yard. And make sure Sansa knows her father misses her songs.
Ned paused, thinking of Jon. Should he mention Lord Anden's confrontation with the Mountain, knowing what that monster had done to Jon's half-siblings? No, better to keep such matters from the letter.
Give Arya a kiss from her father, though I'm sure she'll squirm away as always. And Cat... I know things have been difficult with Jon's legitimization, but-
A horn blast cut through the night, followed by shouts of alarm. Ned's hand instinctively went to Ice, but a second horn blast followed - just the changing of the watch. He released his grip on the sword's hilt, but the moment of peace was broken.
We sail for the Iron Islands soon. Stannis has a solid plan, though not without risk. With luck, this rebellion will be short-lived, and I'll return to Winterfell before the first snow.
He didn't write that he'd heard whispers of early snowfall in the North already. Let Cat hold onto summer a little longer.
Until then, keep our family safe. Winter is coming.
Your Lord husband,
Ned. '
As he sealed the letter with grey wax, stamping it with the direwolf of House Stark, Ned's thoughts drifted to the battles ahead. He hoped this Rebellion would end soon enough. Being in the South again felt like opening a wound that wasn't fully healed yet. Would it ever be healed? Ned did not know.
The fog crept through the army camp like ghostly fingers, thick and white rolling in from the Sunset Sea. In his tent, Ned Stark tossed in his sleep, his dreams dark and troubled. A knife gleamed in shadows, blood dripped onto snow, and somewhere, a crow called his name.
The knife descended, and he couldn't move, couldn't warn-
Something pressed against his chest, pulling him from the nightmare. Ned's eyes snapped open, his hand instinctively reaching for Ice beside his cot. But instead of an assassin, he found himself staring into the black bead eyes of a crow.
The bird stood directly on his chest, larger than any crow he'd seen before. It pecked insistently at his shirt, its feathers gleaming oddly in the dim light that filtered through the tent walls. When it saw him awake, it let out a harsh "CAW!" that seemed unnaturally loud in the pre-dawn silence.
"Seven hells," Ned muttered, trying to wave the bird away. But the crow dodged his hand with almost mocking ease, hopping to the end of his cot. It fixed him and cawed again, more urgently this time.
Ned sat up, the last wisps of his nightmare clinging to his thoughts. Something felt wrong. The usual sounds of the camp - guard patrols, distant conversations, the crackle of fires - had gone quiet. All he could hear was the soft hiss of fog against canvas and the crow's insistent calls.
The bird suddenly flew to the tent's entrance, pecking at the flap before turning back to Ned. It cawed again, spreading its wings in agitation.
A cold feeling settled in Ned's stomach. He'd lived long enough to trust when something felt wrong, and everything about this moment felt wrong. As if to confirm his unease, the crow let out another harsh cry, this one almost like a warning.
Then, through the thick fog, he heard it - the muffled sound of steel on steel, quickly cut short, coming from the direction of Benjen's tent.
Ned grabbed Ice and burst from his tent into the thick fog, following the sounds of struggle. The mist swallowed everything beyond arm's length, transforming the familiar camp into a maze of ghostly shapes. Through it all, the crow flew ahead of him, a black shadow against the white.
The sounds from Benjen's tent became clearer - the clash of steel, grunts of exertion, and then a pained gasp that Ned recognized as his brother's voice. He broke into a run, his bare feet silent on the damp grass.
Ned could see Benjen holding his own against three attackers, his sword a blur of motion. Blood already stained his nightshirt, but he fought with the fierce grace that marked all Stark swordsmen.
"Die quietly, Lord Stark," one assassin hissed in a Westerlands accent that wasn't quite right.
They thought Benjen was him. The realization hit Ned just as he burst into the tent, Ice singing from its scabbard. His sudden appearance caught one assassin by surprise, and the Valyrian steel blade opened the man's throat before he could turn.
"Wait, what is happening! Why are we-"
Benjen used the distraction to drive his sword through an attacker's chest, but the effort left him open. A third blade caught him in the side, sliding between his ribs. Benjen's cry of pain turned into a snarl as he smashed his forehead into his attacker's face, sending them both stumbling.
Ned moved to help, but more assassins appeared from the fog - five, six, seven of them, all wearing Lannister armor.
Then, the ground began to tremble.
Lord Anden's roar shook the very air as he burst through the tent's side like a bear through parchment. His massive frame filled the space, great axe already swinging. The first assassin to face him literally flew across the tent from the impact, his Lannister breastplate caved in like pounded tin.
"COWARDS!" Anden's voice boomed. "Face me!"
The assassins' discipline broke. Faced with a legend made flesh, several turned to flee into the fog. One raised his sword against Anden, only to have his weapon - and the arm holding it - swept away by the giant's axe.
But others pressed their attack on Benjen, perhaps hoping to at least complete part of their mission. Ned saw his brother go down under their blades, blood pooling dark on the ground.
Something snapped in Lord Anden. His next roar wasn't human - it was the sound of an avalanche, of mountains cracking. He dropped his axe and seized the nearest assassin in his massive hands. The man screamed as Anden literally tore him in half, spraying blood across the tent.
The remaining assassins broke and ran. Ned cut down one as he fled, while Anden's huge hand shot out and caught another by the leg, dragging him back like a child's toy.
"Ned!" Anden's voice cut through the chaos. "Benjen!"
Ned was already kneeling beside his brother. Benjen's face was pale, blood seeping from multiple wounds. The worst was a deep stab in his side, but his eyes were still open, still fierce.
"Should've... seen this coming," Benjen gasped. "I...married...Barbrey...after all..."
"Don't talk," Ned pressed his hands against the wound. "MAESTERS! I NEED MAESTERS HERE!"
Anden held the captured assassin up by his throat. "Who sent you?"
"Lannisters," the man choked out. "The Lannisters...send their...regards."
Benjen's blood soaked into the ground, and Ned held his brother's hand, praying to old gods and new that he wouldn't lose another sibling to Southern schemes.
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