Chapter 73: Eddard's Choice
"Joffrey is not a suitable match for you," Eddard said, his expression dark. Over the years, he had heard enough rumors about the boy to form his own judgment. In truth, he had no intention of agreeing to such a marriage. With King Robert's arrival at Winterfell, it was very likely the king would propose an alliance between their houses. That was precisely why Eddard wanted to settle Sansa's marriage beforehand—so that when Robert spoke, he would have a proper reason to refuse.
"No, Father, please—"
"Compared to Saelen, I would rather marry Joffrey."
"I heard from Mother that this visit might lead to a marriage alliance between our families. I beg you, Father, you must agree," Sansa pleaded.
At her age, she was filled with dreams of romance, longing for a prince in shining armor. Joffrey was the heir to the Iron Throne, destined to become king of the Seven Kingdoms. To marry a king was the dream of every noble girl—and Sansa was no exception.
(T/N: Well... 😂)
"Many things are still uncertain. Your mother told you this?" Eddard asked, surprised.
"N-no," Sansa quickly denied. "Mother was discussing it with Maester Luwin. I… I only overheard it by accident."
"I wasn't eavesdropping," she added hastily.
"Listen to me, Sansa." Eddard's tone softened briefly, but soon turned firm again. "Winter is coming. Saelen is the strongest knight in the Seven Kingdoms. In the long winter ahead, I would feel at ease knowing he is there to protect you. And his castle lies close to Winterfell—after you marry him, you will still be able to visit your mother whenever you wish."
"No, Father." Sansa shook her head stubbornly.
Ever since she had overheard the possibility of a Stark–royal marriage, her thoughts had been consumed by visions of becoming queen—of standing above all others, receiving their bows and reverence.
Eddard looked at her, helpless, and let out a quiet sigh.
"This matter is not urgent. Think it over carefully," he said at last, before turning and walking away.
The next day, King Robert and his retinue arrived at Winterfell. Eddard watched the large, heavyset man walking at the front and stood there in a daze for a moment before finally recognizing him as Robert. After exchanging greetings with everyone, the king asked Eddard to take him down to the crypts. Queen Cersei voiced her dissatisfaction, but Robert ignored her completely.
The two descended into the underground crypts and stopped before a stone tomb. Robert stood there in silence for a long while, paying his respects, before finally speaking, reminiscing about the past.
"Ned, do you know why I came all this way to Winterfell to see you?"
Eddard had already guessed, but he chose not to say it outright. Instead, he replied lightly, "You came to see the strange creatures beyond the Wall?"
Then he added seriously, "Your Grace, you should visit the Wall yourself. Speak with the Night's Watch. Their numbers are dwindling, and the White Walkers beyond the Wall are gathering. They could attack at any time…"
"The Wall?" Robert snorted. "It's stood there for eight thousand years. It can hold for another hundred or so, can't it?"
He waved it off, then gripped Eddard's hand.
"I have more important matters to discuss. The realm is in chaos, and I need someone I can trust to help me rule the Seven Kingdoms."
"Ned, I need you."
"My court is full of fools, flatterers, and liars. I need someone loyal—someone who can govern, command armies, and handle the burdens of rule. As for me? I'll drink, feast, hunt, and enjoy myself." Robert laughed, patting his belly.
"And those White Walkers you mentioned—I've seen that creature you captured. I admit, it startled me at first, but I smashed it to pieces with my warhammer in a few blows."
"I think you're making too much of it. As long as the Wall stands, those things will be stuck in that frozen wasteland. What, do you think they'll sail ships and invade the south?"
Eddard looked at him, suddenly feeling a sense of unfamiliarity. Where was the fearless warrior he once knew?
"But Your Grace, the Wall is severely undermanned. If it falls—"
"That's enough, Ned," Robert interrupted impatiently. "You want men and food sent to the Wall, don't you?"
"Eddard Stark," the king said with a smile, "I name you Hand of the King."
"You will speak with my authority, command the armies, and administer justice. When that happens, you can fill every inch of the Wall with men and send all the grain from the south northward—I won't object."
"Well? What do you say, Lord Stark?"
"Don't refuse. If you do, I'll give the position to that 'puffed-up fish' or to Tywin Lannister. And I guarantee you—they'll spend their time scheming and fighting for power, not sending a single soldier or a single grain of food to the Wall."
Eddard had to admit there was truth in Robert's words. Power had never been something he desired, but in this moment, he had little choice. At the very least, if he became Hand, it would benefit the North and the Wall.
He knelt on one knee. "Your Grace, I will serve as you command."
Robert beamed and pulled him to his feet. "You must come south with me. You helped me win that iron chair—now you'll help me keep it. We'll rule the realm together, as brothers."
The king then proposed a betrothal between Joffrey and Sansa. Eddard, unwilling, deflected the matter, saying he needed time to consider and would discuss it with Catelyn before giving an answer. The two then left the crypts together.
That evening, the Starks hosted a grand feast in the great hall to welcome the royal party. After eating and drinking their fill, everyone retired to their chambers.
Later, in the lord's bedchamber, Eddard, Catelyn, and Maester Luwin sat together, their expressions grave as they studied a letter. When they finished, Catelyn burned it.
The letter had come from her sister, Lysa Arryn.
It was a warning.
According to it, Jon Arryn had been murdered by the Lannisters.
The revelation struck them like a thunderbolt. The implications were enormous—one wrong move could plunge the Seven Kingdoms into chaos. Eddard could not accuse the Lannisters of murdering the Hand of the King based on a single secret letter. Such a charge required undeniable proof.
Moreover, too many questions remained unanswered. Why would the Lannisters kill Jon Arryn? How had Lysa discovered the truth?
There was only one way to find out.
He would have to go south—to King's Landing—and uncover the truth himself.