Eddard had already guessed what Robert was about to say.
He did not like King's Landing — it was filled with Stark family sorrows — yet he could not ignore the deep bond he shared with Robert.
With a quiet sigh, Eddard said, "Your Grace, I will always be at your service."
It was difficult for him to utter those words, but Robert seemed not to have heard them.
"Think of those days we spent together at the Eyrie… Gods, they were glorious!" Robert said. "Ned, I want you by my side again, not hiding alone at the end of the world, wasting your talents."
He smiled at Eddard. "Old friend, silence those fools. I'm naming you Hand of the King — to speak with my voice and rule the Seven Kingdoms in my stead."
Eddard longed for his wife's warm embrace, for his children, for Winterfell — his true home.
Power meant little to him.
He had come south to uncover the truth about Jon Arryn's death and verify the truth of Lysa's letter.
He also had a duty to protect Jon Arryn's widow and child.
When his task was done, he wanted nothing more than to return home. "I lack the ability to serve as your Hand," he said stiffly.
Robert knew his old friend's nature well and ignored the veiled refusal.
"Ned, if I wanted to be kind to you, I wouldn't have dragged you from the North. I need you to run the realm and lead my armies — while I drink, feast, and enjoy myself… and watch you scowl all day in the Red Keep!"
Robert threw back his head and laughed, but Eddard's face stayed stern.
"Seven hells, you're dull," Robert complained. "At least try to smile!"
"Starks are not known for their humor," Eddard replied evenly.
Servants had already set a folding table and chairs by the riverbank, with fruit and wine. They sat.
Robert tossed an orange to Eddard. "Remember when someone sent Jon a whole cask of these? They all went rotten, so I hurled one at Dex — hit him square on the nose! That pockmarked squire of Redfort threw one back, and before Jon could say a word, the whole hall at the Eyrie was a storm of flying oranges."
The memory drew a smile from Eddard — this was the boy he'd grown up with, the Robert Baratheon he had loved like a brother.
He believed that if the Lannisters truly were guilty of Jon Arryn's murder, Robert would deliver the fairest judgment.
If Lord Tywin dared raise arms in rebellion, Eddard would summon the North to aid Robert, who would crush the old lion as mercilessly as he had shattered Rhaegar on the Trident.
The heaviness in his heart eased, and his smile grew a little warmer.
"You helped me win this bloody throne, Ned. Now you'll help me keep it. We are meant to rule the realm together."
Robert drained a cup of wine and sighed with satisfaction. "If Lyanna had lived, we'd be bound by marriage now — true brothers in name as well as in heart. But it's not too late. I have a son, you have a daughter — Joffrey and Sansa will unite our houses, just as Lyanna and I would have done."
"Your Grace, it is the highest honor," Eddard said, then hesitated. "May I have time to consider? I must tell Catelyn — she is their mother."
Robert waved impatiently. "Fine, fine! Go tell Catelyn — but don't make me wait too long. You know I've no patience."
He thumped his cup down. "Ned, I trust you to keep those conniving councillors in line and rule this troublesome realm."
To Robert, the matter was already settled.
Eddard sighed inwardly. Robert would not take no for an answer.
Ned Stark was not a man to waver — if it must be so, perhaps it was fitting… They had always fought side by side.
"But across the Narrow Sea, the dragonspawn grows in secret," Robert said.
Eddard met Robert's gaze, remembering his friend's near-mad hatred for the Targaryens — and the quarrel it had once caused between them, years ago, before Lyanna's death brought reconciliation.
Robert wanted him, as Hand, to press the hunt for the last Targaryens.
Instead, Ned said, "Your Grace, the war has been over for more than a decade. You are King now. The youngest is barely past ten — surely you would not stoop to Tywin Lannister's butchery?"
Rhaegar Targaryen's young son and daughter… Tywin had ordered the girl dragged screaming from her bed and slain, and the infant boy dashed against a wall.
"A ten-year-old girl?" Robert scoffed. "Ned, you're still too naïve. Soon enough she'll spread her legs and breed a nest of dragonspawn."
"Murdering children is not an act of honor," Ned said firmly.
"Honor?" Robert spat. "Damn your honor! What honor did the Targaryens ever show?"
He drank deep. "Even now, there are those who call me Usurper. Many fought for the Targaryens — they may bow and smile, but they're waiting for a chance to kill me and my son. If that beggar king across the sea comes with an army, these traitors will flock to him.
"Varys gave me perfect chances to kill the dragonspawn, but Jon Arryn was as soft-hearted as you. I let myself be talked out of it — like a fool!"
Ned chuckled faintly. "He'll never cross the sea. And if he does, we'll drive him back together."
Robert laughed. "Better still — I'll end him with my warhammer."
Ned agreed — no man could stand against Robert's hammer in battle.
"I hate trouble, Ned. If it can be ended quickly, so much the better. I've given this task to the Crabb boy — don't be another Jon Arryn and get in his way!"
Ned frowned. "Crabb?"
Robert drained his cup. "You should remember — the stubborn, fearless young woman, heavy with child, who should have been put to death. You begged me to spare her."
"She was pregnant," Ned said. "We were the victors — mercy was our duty."
"Brown hair, brown eyes… trembling, but clutching a dagger, ready to take me with her. She reminded me of Lyanna… Otherwise I'd never have spared her people. Only the Crab Claw folk refused to yield, even after I killed Rhaegar."
"They're First Men, Robert," Ned said mildly. "Stubborn to the bone."
"Like you," Robert laughed.
"Your mercy won their loyalty," Ned said.
"Time flies — her child is grown now… damn it!" Robert growled. "None of my royal bannermen give me peace. Varys says that reckless brat nearly stormed the governor's mansion in Pentos chasing Targaryens. Then he had the gall to pester Littlefinger for another twenty thousand gold dragons — after I'd already given him one hundred and fifty thousand in less than three months!
"Seven hells, I must be the world's greatest fool. It's just as well he stays out of my sight, or I'd have him whipped at the city gates."
Ned smiled — Robert's bluster often hid admiration for bold warriors. As for the gold, the Lord of Winterfell gave it no thought; the Targaryens had left Robert a mountain of treasure.
"Perhaps you should hear his reasons," Ned said.
"Bah! The councillors in the Red Keep are masters of excuses. You'd only end up angrier," Robert snorted. "I'm leaving such matters to you from now on — I just want to see that sour face of yours."
"I'll make sure you share in the misery," Ned replied dryly.
Robert laughed again.
When it faded, Ned said seriously, "As Hand, I won't support Crabb's hunt for the Targaryens."
Robert shrugged. "I told you, the realm's yours to govern. Do as you like. You can meet the boy yourself — his parents fought against us, and now he serves me. The world's full of ironies."
"War is only war," Ned said. "It's over."
Robert drank. "Let's hope the enemy thinks so too."
He rose. "Come on — we'll reach the inn before dark and find a wench to warm our beds."
Ned only shook his head.
As they walked together, Robert eyed a lean figure tending the horses. "That your bastard? Looks just like you did when you were young — though you were never truly young."
Ned glanced over, smiling faintly. "His name is Jon."
Jon Snow must have sensed their gaze; he slipped behind the horses.
If the gods hated bastards, Ned thought, why give men such strong desires?
Robert grinned. "What was her name again? Becca? No — she was mine, bless her. Black hair, big eyes… easy to fall for. Yours was… Alina? Melara? I mean the one who gave you that bastard."
Ned's voice was stiff. "Her name was Wylla. I don't wish to speak of her."
"Ah, Wylla! For you to forget your precious honor, even for an hour — she must have been something. You've never told me what she looked like, and I'm curious."
"Don't," Ned said, anger in his voice. "I'll never tell you."
Robert waved a hand. "You're too hard on yourself, Ned. No wonder no woman will bed you again. Gods, you're like a bloody hedgehog — you should use one for your sigil."
A guardsman brought Robert his reins, and the king mounted with surprising ease.
In his study, Gawen sat with eyes closed, rubbing his temples.
The soft trickle of wine — Surana filled a cup and set it before him.
Opening his eyes, he stared at the cup. "Surana, make preparations. I need you to return to Whispers Hall."
She nodded. "My lord, I'll leave tomorrow."
Leaning back, Gawen smiled. "You're always thorough, Lady Surana."
"Do you have specific orders?" she asked.
He hesitated, then shook his head. "Take care of Lyanna. Bring her fine jewelry from King's Landing — she's always liked bright, glittering things."
Surana stepped closer. "There are… matters I could handle for you."
Gawen understood her meaning.
"She's in a delicate state," he said. "I won't force her to do anything she doesn't wish. My cousin likes you — unless she speaks first, ask her nothing. So long as our family's interests are unharmed, she will always be the most honored lady of House Crabb."
If she wished, he would not begrudge her keeping company — man or woman — at the estate.
The lord of House Crabb was strict with himself but generous with others.
Relieved, Surana wasn't sure if it was for herself or for the lady in question.
"My lord," she said, "House Crabb needs a lady."
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🔥 The Throne's Last Flame — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥
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