The King's Solar
The door closed behind Ashara, leaving the room feeling suddenly larger and colder. The heavy oak barrier shut out the sounds of the castle—the servants, the guards, the life of the court—leaving only the three architects of the new world in a haze of wine fumes and map dust.
Robert Baratheon leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking under his bulk. He looked at the closed door, a wistful expression on his face.
"She's a beauty, Ned," Robert said, shaking his head. "You lucky frozen bastard. Ashara Dayne. The men at Harrenhal would have killed to dance with her, and you... well, you did more than dance."
"She is my wife, Robert," Ned said, his voice firm but not unkind. "And she is the mother of my heir. I expect she will be treated as such."
"Of course, of course," Robert waved a hand dismissively. "I'm just jealous. You have a wife who looks like a star, and I have..." He trailed off, his face darkening as he thought of Lyanna, then of the empty space beside him on the throne. "I have a crown."
Jon Arryn cleared his throat, steering the conversation back to the realm of the living. "The legitimization decrees will be drawn up tonight, Your Grace. Cregan Stark and Jon Stark. Trueborn sons of Winterfell."
"Good," Ned said. He walked over to the table and poured himself a cup of water. He needed a clear head. The emotional reunion was over; now it was time for the business of ruling. Or rather, the business of ensuring the North didn't starve while the South played its games.
"There is more, Robert," Ned said, turning to face them.
Robert groaned, reaching for his wine. "There's always more. Can't we just drink? We won."
"You won a chair," Ned corrected. "Now you have to keep it. And I have to keep my people alive."
He placed his hands on the table, leaning over the map of Westeros. His finger traced the vast, white expanse of the North.
"The North bled for this rebellion," Ned stated. "My father burned for it. My brother strangled for it. My bannermen died on the Trident and in the streets of this city for it. We marched south, we fought your battles, and we put you on that throne."
"I know that, Ned," Robert said, his voice softening. "I owe you everything. You know that."
"Then show it," Ned said. "I'm not asking for gold for myself. I'm asking for the North."
"Name it," Robert said expansively. "You want a position on the Council? Master of Laws? Hand of the King? Jon is getting old, he might need a nap."
Jon Arryn smiled thinly. "I am spry enough yet, Your Grace."
"I don't want a seat in this city," Ned said, looking around the solar with distaste. "I want to go home. But I want to go home with guarantees."
He held up a finger.
"First. Tax exemption. The North has been neglected for years. The winter is coming, and our stores are low because we fed your armies. I want a ten-year exemption from royal taxes for the North. Every copper we generate stays in the North to rebuild our infrastructure and stock our granaries."
Jon Arryn frowned, calculating. "Ten years is a long time, Ned. The Crown needs revenue to rebuild King's Landing."
"The Crown has the gold of the West and the harvest of the Reach," Ned countered. "Tywin Lannister and Mace Tyrell can pay for the city they helped destroy or ignored. The North paid in blood. We will not pay in gold too."
Robert slammed his hand on the table. "Granted! Ten years. Hell, make it twelve if it shuts Tywin up."
"Ten is enough," Ned said.
He held up a second finger.
"Second. The Gift."
Jon Arryn's eyebrows shot up. "The New Gift? The land Queen Alysanne gave to the Night's Watch?"
"It's a wasteland," Ned said bluntly. "The Watch hasn't the men to patrol it, let alone farm it. It lies fallow while my people starve. Wildlings raid it with impunity because there's no one to stop them. I want it back."
"The Night's Watch will never agree," Jon warned. "They are protective of their rights, even as they rot on the Wall."
"They don't have the strength to hold their rights," Ned argued. "I will not strip them of support. In fact, I will increase it. If the Gift is returned to the Lords of the North—the Umbers, the Karstarks, the mountain clans—we can farm it. We can tax it. And a portion of that yield will go directly to Castle Black. Food, wool, timber. They get resources; we get the land. It's a trade."
"I will go to the Wall myself," Ned continued. "I will treat with Lord Commander Qorgyle. All I need is your permission to negotiate the transfer of sovereignty. If the Watch agrees, the Crown agrees."
Jon looked at Robert. "It would strengthen the North... and if the Watch gets supplies, they can man the castles again."
"Do it," Robert said. "I never cared for that frozen strip of land anyway. If you can make wheat grow in snow, be my guest."
"Third," Ned said, pointing to the neck of the map. "Moat Cailin."
"The ruin?" Robert asked.
"The key to the North," Ned corrected. "It has been a ruin for too long. I intend to rebuild it. Fully. Twenty towers. Curtain walls. A fortress that can stop any army from the south."
Jon Arryn narrowed his eyes. "You anticipate an invasion, Ned? From whom? We are your brothers."
"You are," Ned agreed. "But kings die. Alliances fade. And history is a wheel. I want the Moat rebuilt and garrisoned. I will give it to a cadet branch of House Stark. Perhaps Benjen, or one of my sons when they come of age. But I need the Crown to recognize the charter."
Robert waved his hand. "Build a hundred castles if you like. Who are you keeping out? The Freys?"
"Speaking of the Freys," Ned said, his finger sliding down the map to the crossing of the Green Fork. "That brings me to my next point. The Bridge."
"The one you built in four days?" Robert laughed. "The Greatjon hasn't shut up about it."
"It's a temporary structure," Ned said. "Timber and rope. It won't last more than a few years. I want to build a permanent one. A stone bridge, wide and strong, right where I crossed."
Robert's eyes narrowed as he thought of Walder Frey. "The Late Lord Frey. He arrived at the Trident when the bodies were already cold."
"He did," Ned agreed. "Because he controls the only crossing. He holds the North and the Riverlands hostage every time we need to move men. I want that ended. I want a Royal Bridge. A bridge that belongs to the Crown, free for all to use. No tolls. No negotiations."
Robert grinned, a vicious, delighted expression. "A free bridge right next to his tollbooth? That would ruin him."
"It would make him irrelevant," Ned corrected.
"I love it," Robert declared. "Do it. Build it high. Call it the 'King's Crossing' just to spite the old weasel. A nice gift for his 'loyal service' in arriving late."
Jon Arryn sighed, the master of coin in him wincing. "A stone bridge across the Green Fork is a massive undertaking, Robert. The cost..."
"I have a solution for that too," Ned said, leaning back in his chair. "You want to marry Cersei Lannister to bind the West, don't you?"
"It is necessary," Jon nodded.
"The Lannisters shit gold," Ned said bluntly. "Or so the sayings go. Let's find out."
He looked at Robert.
"If Tywin Lannister wants his daughter to be Queen, make him pay for the privilege. Tell him the dowry for Cersei isn't just a wedding feast. It's the cost of the bridge. And the cost of rebuilding King's Landing."
Ned grinned, a rare, wolfish expression.
"Ask for a mountain of dragons, Robert. If he wants the throne in his family line, he will pay it. Even if he grinds his teeth to dust doing it."
Robert stared at Ned, then burst out laughing. It was a genuine, belly-shaking roar.
"Make Tywin pay for the bridge that ruins Frey?" Robert gasped, wiping tears from his eyes. "Ned, you are evil. I can just see his face. That stoic, golden prick having to open his vaults to buy a crown."
"He'll pay," Ned said confidently. "He's already committed. He can't back out now."
"Consider it done," Robert said, still chuckling. "We'll bleed the Lion to feed the realm. Brilliant."
"And finally," Ned said, his finger moving to the western coast of the North. "A fleet."
Jon Arryn sat up straighter. "A fleet?"
"The North has no sea power," Ned said. "We rely on the Manderlys, but they are on the east coast. The west is open. The Ironborn raid our shores whenever they get bored. I intend to build a western fleet. Shipyards at Flint's Finger or Sea Dragon Point."
"A fleet is expensive," Jon noted. "And dangerous. A Northern fleet could threaten Lannisport."
"Or protect it," Ned countered. "Robert, listen to me. The Ironborn... Balon Greyjoy is sitting on Pyke, watching us. He sees a new King, a realm bleeding from civil war. He thinks we are weak. He thinks the dragons are gone and the stags are soft."
Ned leaned in, his voice dropping to a warning growl.
"They have brains the size of peas, but they have ships. They will rebel. Maybe not this year, maybe not next. But they will come for the spoils. When they do, I want to be able to meet them at sea, not chase them through the Wolfswood after they've burned my villages."
Robert's eyes lit up. "Let them rebel! I'll smash them too!"
"Better to smash them before they land," Ned said. "I need timber rights and I need shipwrights from the Vale and the Stormlands to teach my men. Will you support this?"
Robert looked at the map. He imagined the Iron Fleet burning. He liked the image.
"Build your boats, Ned. Build a thousand of them. If the squids rise, we'll turn the Iron Islands upsidedown."
"Then the North is satisfied," Ned said, stepping back from the table. "We will rebuild. We will hold the Wall. And we will keep the King's peace."
He looked at the two men. They were his family, in blood and in bond.
"Now," Ned said, changing the subject to the one loose end that had been nagging him. "What of the Dragonstone garrison? What of the Queen and Viserys?"
The mood in the room shifted instantly. The triumphant air evaporated, replaced by a sullen, heavy silence.
Robert scowled, staring into his wine cup as if it had offended him. "Gone."
"Gone?" Ned asked.
"Stannis," Robert spat the name. "He let them go."
"He didn't let them go," Jon Arryn corrected gently. "The storm..."
"The storm!" Robert roared, slamming his cup down. "He had the Royal Fleet! He had the Redwyne fleet backing him! And he let a pregnant woman and a boy slip through his fingers in a rowboat!"
"The storm destroyed the Targaryen fleet," Jon explained to Ned. "It smashed them against the rocks of Dragonstone. But amidst the chaos... Willem Darry smuggled the Queen and the Prince out. They sailed to Braavos."
"Stannis failed," Robert grumbled. "He sat there and let them escape."
"Stannis took the island," Ned pointed out. "He secured the ancestral seat of House Targaryen. That is a victory, Robert."
"A hollow one," Robert muttered. "Without the boy, the war isn't over. Not really. Viserys will grow up. He'll find an army. He'll come back."
"Then we will fight him then," Ned said. "But Stannis did his duty."
"Duty," Robert mocked. "He's always going on about duty. Well, I've given him a new duty. He can rot on that rock."
Ned frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I named him Lord of Dragonstone," Robert said, looking pleased with himself. "It's fitting. He likes rocks. He can sit there and stare at the sea and think about how he lost the last dragons."
Ned froze. His internal Wiki flashed red.
"You... you made him Lord of Dragonstone?" Ned asked slowly.
"Yes," Robert said. "And I gave Storm's End to Renly."
"Renly?" Ned asked incredulously. "He's a child! He's six years old!"
"He's a Baratheon," Robert shrugged. "He can grow into it. Stannis is too sour for Storm's End. The Stormlords don't like him. They need someone... lighter."
"Are you mad?" Ned yelled.
The shout was so sudden, so loud, that Robert actually flinched. Jon Arryn jumped in his seat.
"Ned?" Robert asked, confused.
"Are you out of your mind?" Ned demanded, stepping forward, his hands slamming onto the table. "Stannis held Storm's End for a year! He ate rats and shoe leather so you could play soldier in the Riverlands! He held the line against the entire might of the Reach! Without him, your home would be a Tyrell garrison right now!"
"I know that!" Robert shouted back, defensive now. "That's why I'm giving him Dragonstone! It's the seat of the heir! It's a royal castle! It's an honor!"
"It's a rock!" Ned roared. "It's a dark, damp, volcanic rock in the middle of the sea with a few fishing villages and a lot of ugly statues! Storm's End is his home! It is one of the greatest castles in the realm! It commands the Stormlands! It has income, levies, power!"
Ned pointed a shaking finger at Robert.
"To give Storm's End to a six-year-old boy who spent the war in safety, and to give Stannis—the man who starved for you—a bleak island... Robert, that is not an honor. That is an insult. A slap in the face."
"It's the traditional seat of the Crown Prince!" Robert argued, though he looked less certain now. "It means he's my heir!"
"Until you have a son!" Ned countered. "And then what? Then he's just the Lord of a rock, while his baby brother holds the ancestral seat that he defended? Do you think Stannis cares about symbolism? He cares about justice! He cares about what is right!"
Ned took a breath, calming himself, lowering his volume but increasing the intensity.
"And think about the politics, you fool. Hoster Tully."
"What about him?"
"We just betrothed Catelyn Tully to Stannis," Ned reminded him. "Do you think Hoster Tully wants his daughter to live on a volcanic rock? He agreed to the match because he thought Stannis would be Lord of Storm's End. He wants his grandson to be a Lord Paramount, not the castellan of a glorified outpost."
Ned looked at Jon Arryn.
"You knew this. Why didn't you stop him?"
Jon sighed, rubbing his temples. "I tried, Ned. But Robert... he was angry about Viserys. He wanted to punish Stannis. I thought... I thought perhaps if you spoke to him..."
"You waited for me to be the bad guy," Ned realized.
"I waited for the only man Robert listens to when he's shouting," Jon corrected.
Ned turned back to Robert. The King was sulking, looking like a petulant child who had been told he couldn't eat his sweets.
"Robert," Ned said gently. "Stannis is your brother. He is loyal. He is iron. But iron breaks if you hit it hard enough. Don't break him. Don't turn him against you. You need him. You need him as Master of Ships who can hold the Narrow Sea. Give him Dragonstone as a command, yes. But give him Storm's End as his seat."
"But Renly..."
"Renly can wait," Ned said. "Renly can have Dragonstone when he comes of age, if you haven't had a son by then. Or give Renly nothing. He's the third son. He expects nothing."
Robert grunted. He picked up his wine cup, swirled the dregs, and downed it.
"He's going to be insufferable about it," Robert muttered. "He'll grind his teeth and tell me how I should have done it sooner."
"He will," Ned agreed with a smile. "But he will be on your side. Wholly and truly."
Robert sighed. "Fine. Fine! Stannis gets Storm's End. Renly gets... I don't know, a pony. Are you happy now, Stark?"
"I am," Ned said, sitting back down. "And Stannis will be too. Even if he never admits it."
"He won't," Robert chuckled. "Miserable bastard."
The tension in the room dissipated. The decisions were made. The realm was shaped.
"So," Robert said, clapping his hands together. "Business is done. No more talk of taxes or rocks or ships. Tomorrow, you leave."
"At dawn," Ned said.
"Then tonight," Robert declared, "we feast. A real feast. Not that sour stuff we had at the coronation. I want boar. I want ale. And I want to celebrate your wedding properly, Ned. You didn't even invite me!"
"It was a small affair," Ned apologized.
"We'll make up for it," Robert promised. "Tonight, the Dragon is dead, the Wolf is married, and the Stag is King. Tonight, we drink until we forget what blood tastes like."
---
The feast in the Great Hall was a raucous affair.
The tables were packed with lords from every corner of the Seven Kingdoms. The mood was high. The war was over, the harvest was coming in, and the new King was generous with his wine.
Ned sat at the high table, Ashara beside him. Cregan was asleep in a basket under the table.
Robert was in his element. He was loud, boisterous, hugging serving girls and challenging Lords to drinking contests. He looked happy.
But Ned saw the cracks. He saw the way Robert's eyes would sometimes drift to the empty space where Lyanna should have been. He saw the way he drank not for joy, but to drown the silence.
He will never be whole, Ned realized. The crown is a bandage over a wound that won't heal.
Jon Arryn sat on Robert's other side, looking weary but content. He had held the realm together. He had built a coalition out of nothing.
And Stannis...
Stannis Baratheon sat at the end of the table. He wasn't drinking. He wasn't smiling. He was cutting his meat with precise, surgical strokes.
Ned picked up his cup and walked over to him.
"Lord Stannis," Ned said.
Stannis looked up. His blue eyes were cold, his jaw set. "Lord Stark."
"I wanted to congratulate you," Ned said. "On the betrothal. Lady Catelyn is a fine woman. Strong. Dutiful."
"She brings the Riverlands," Stannis said flatly. "It is a necessary alliance."
"She will make a good Lady of Storm's End," Ned added pointedly.
Stannis paused. He put down his knife. He looked at Ned, really looked at him.
"Robert... he intended to give me Dragonstone," Stannis said. It wasn't a question. Stannis knew his brother.
"He considered it," Ned admitted. "He thought it an honor. The seat of the heir."
"He thought it a punishment," Stannis corrected bitterly. "For letting the children escape."
"Perhaps," Ned said. "But he was reminded of your service. Of the siege. Of the fact that you held his home when he could not."
Stannis ground his teeth. A muscle in his jaw jumped.
"You reminded him," Stannis deduced.
"I merely pointed out the truth," Ned said lightly. "Storm's End belongs to you, Stannis. By right and by merit. Hold it well."
Stannis stood up. He was a stiff, awkward man, uncomfortable with gratitude.
"I will," Stannis said. He held out his hand. "Thank you, Lord Stark."
---
The next morning, the docks were quiet. The revelry of the night before had left the city hungover and slow.
Ned stood on the pier with Robert and Jon.
"This is it, then," Robert said. He looked terrible—eyes red, face puffy—but he had come to see them off.
"It is," Ned said.
"You'll come back?" Robert asked. "For the tourneys? For the councils?"
"I'll come back," Ned promised. "When the snows melt."
"That could be years," Robert grumbled.
"Then come North," Ned said. "Bring your court to Winterfell. We'll hunt in the Wolfswood. It will be like old times."
"I might just do that," Robert said. "Get away from these spiders and bootlickers."
He hugged Ned one last time.
"Be safe, Ned. Give my love to... to your boy. And the other one."
"I will," Ned said.
He turned to Jon Arryn.
"Watch him, Jon," Ned whispered.
"I will," Jon promised. "Go home, Ned. You've done your duty."
Ned walked up the gangplank. Ashara was waiting for him at the rail, Cregan in her arms. Arthur stood behind her, watching the Red Keep with a guarded expression.
The lines were cast off. The ship drifted away from the dock.
As the city receded, turning into a smudge of smoke and stone against the sky, Ned felt the weight finally lift.
The south was behind him. The war was behind him.
Ahead lay the sea. And beyond that, the White Knife. And beyond that...
Winterfell.
Ned Stark put his arm around his wife. He looked at his son. He thought of Jon, sleeping in the cabin below.
"Take us home," Ned said to the captain.
The sails filled with wind. The ship surged forward.
The Wolf was going home.