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"Smoke rises in the East, and that fire will reach the West soon enough. That young boy is the blood of Aegon the Conqueror. He will never forget to take his revenge upon us," Eddard Stark said with a frown.
The deaths at the Trident—Rhaegar, Aerys, Rhaegar's wife and children—had long since sealed an undying hatred between the rebels and the loyalists. For those who had fallen, House Stark had lost a lord and an heir, and a daughter. House Arryn had lost two heirs. These great houses would never compromise with House Targaryen.
The loyalist lords had not all been wiped out. They were waiting for the dragon banner to rise again. And then there were the fence-sitters, always ready to bend with the wind.
"Is the situation truly that bad?" Catelyn asked.
"I'm afraid it will only grow worse. Perhaps I truly have no choice. I must call my banners, march south to King's Landing, and then we join forces to cross the sea and settle matters with the King of Andalos once and for all."
"Cross the sea." Catelyn felt a chill at the words. Wars across the water were never kind, and this enemy had a living dragon.
The North might be remote, but the sailors who reached White Harbor still carried news from afar. The dragon that had swept through Andalos. The Butcher of the Rhoyne.
That boy was young, yet already a fearsome warrior. Many whispered that Viserys was the new Conqueror.
Ned saw the fear on his wife's face. "We must act. That boy brought back a dragon. His power grows stronger every day. After seizing Andalos and Tyrosh, his fleet can land anywhere it pleases."
If war came again, it would be like the Usurper's War—perhaps even larger.
"I will pray for you day and night," Catelyn said.
House Tully followed the Seven. The Riverlands, like the Vale, kept the old faith.
"I will fight alongside Robert, your father Lord Hoster, and Jaime Lannister. Lord Jon Arryn will hold the rear, especially now that his child has just been born. The southern lords can muster more quickly. I hear Lord Hoster, Jon, and Renly have already begun counting heads and training the smallfolk."
Ned's mouth tightened at the mention of the Kingslayer. He still disliked the man.
He had little love for the lions. They had waited until the war's outcome was clear before joining Robert's cause—late to the fight, as always.
"Thank the gods Jon finally has a child. But Ned, watch your tongue. That woman is our queen, and she grows prouder with every passing year," Catelyn warned.
Catelyn was glad for her sister. The Arryn line was finally secure.
"I will," Ned said. "Next, I must call my banners."
Calling the banners always took time. The North was vast and cold. Every muster meant lost days of harvest.
Ned had always been cautious when he summoned his lords. During the Usurper's War he had called the largest host for vengeance. Balon's rebellion had required fewer men. This time it would be nearly everything.
He found it hard to leave Winterfell. The South held a strange dread and sorrow for him. His father had gone south only once in his life, answering the king's call, and had never returned.
"My lord, if you call the banners again, many will grumble," Maester Luwin said quietly. "Our northern men grow homesick the longer they are gone."
"I know. But there is no other way. I will speak with each of them," Ned said, rubbing his brow. Balon's war had been small. Now, only a few years later, he needed a far greater muster.
The North's problem was simple: its efforts went unrewarded. Many lords nursed quiet grievances. The first time had been for vengeance. The second and third times were simply serving as the Iron Throne's muscle. Few northern houses had gained power or deep roots in the South—except the late Lord Rickard.
Worse still was coin. The Iron Throne's treasury was nearly empty. The rewards given to the North fell far short of what the lords felt they deserved. It was a losing bargain, and doing it too often wore thin.
Ned and Robert were brothers, but the northern lords still needed to eat. Especially when it meant missing the harvest and draining winter stores.
This march south, and the possible sea crossing, meant the war could last who knew how long.
What Ned would receive was far less than what his ancestor Cregan Stark had gained for supporting the Dragonbane. But Ned had no choice. He was Robert's strong right hand and the bridge to the northern lords. He believed he could bring them to agreement.
He had even more letters to write.
Ned knew the great houses like his own blood. The strongest must send men: the Manderlys, the Boltons, the Karstarks.
The widow's strength would be needed as well, whatever grudge she held.
"I must also write to the Night's Watch and bid them watch the North."
"The Neck must be reinforced. In my name, the Reeds and the Glovers will send two hundred bowmen to defend the Bay of Seals. Lord Manderly must strengthen White Harbor's defenses. If enemy ships raid, we will not be caught unprepared. And Theon—I may need to bring him. When war comes, we will need Balon's fleet."
Ned secured the key points first.
"Will the war reach the North?" Catelyn asked, fear plain on her face.
"The future is uncertain," Ned said. "Andalos is not so far, and the enemy has a dragon that can strike anywhere. House Targaryen shows no mercy to traitors. Still, Viserys will not strike north lightly until he has settled everything else. The cold here is a weapon ordinary men cannot endure. As for you—you will remain at Winterfell."
Catelyn nodded. Suddenly she felt very afraid.
"When Robert and I march, you must govern the North in my stead. No matter what, Winterfell must have a Stark in command. Robb and the others are still children. This is war. I cannot take them. Robb must learn to rule. You will have him sit in your councils. He is young, but he must learn to stand alone one day."
"The gods protect you, Lord Eddard," Maester Luwin murmured.
"Luwin, I have always regarded you as family. No matter how small the matter, give my wife your counsel and teach my children what they must know. Do not forget—winter is coming."
Maester Luwin nodded gravely.
"What of the other children?" Catelyn asked.
"For now they stay with you. They are too young for the long road to war," Ned said quietly.
"Good." Catelyn nodded. "Robert mentioned a betrothal in his letter…"
"I have not agreed yet," Ned shook his head. "The children are still too young. Once we win this war, I will speak with Robert properly."
Even Catelyn and Brandon's betrothal had come when she was two-and-ten. Sansa was younger still.
"But he is the king now. A king's honor must not be slighted," Catelyn said carefully.
If war were not looming, she would have agreed at once. Sansa as the prince's betrothed—ruling from the Wall to Dorne.
But the realm was in chaos. Perhaps this was not the moment.
"He loves me more than a brother. We have more pressing matters. If I refuse, he may rage. But in a week we will be friends again."
"But the king now… you have not seen him in years," Catelyn still worried.
"I will discuss it with him carefully."
"What of Jon Snow?" Maester Luwin asked.
Catelyn's body tensed.
"He is my son. I want you to look after him well. He and Robb are close," Ned said. "I cannot take him south. The court is full of wagging tongues. There is no place for him there. Others would shun him."
"Very well," Catelyn said, her face tight.
She had meant to refuse, but Jon was still young—not yet ten. She could not cast him out now.
Catelyn watched Jon with wary eyes. The Seven despised bastards, and she feared he would one day challenge Robb's inheritance.
During the Blackfyre rebellions, the old king's excessive love for his bastards had brought endless war.
"No. He will never be Lord of Winterfell. He is a bastard. He will never have Winterfell," Catelyn told herself.
Ned watched Robb and Jon sparring with wooden swords below. They looked so much like he and Robert had as boys.
But Robert had been born with god's own strength. Every time they fought, he had beaten Ned bloody.
Robert's warhammer—Ned had needed both hands to lift it even grown, while Robert swung it one-handed while running.
Ned looked at Jon. The boy had inherited the Stark look strongly—more so than Catelyn's red-haired children.
Ned's gaze shifted to an older boy: Theon, Balon's only surviving son. Theon was old enough to take to the field.
But how best to use him, Ned had not yet decided.
"I have kept my promise. But what comes after?" Ned thought.
The people across the Narrow Sea were Jon's blood as well. But how they would treat the boy was another matter. And Ned could never let Jon's true parentage be known. He had lied to Robert once. He would not do so again.
If anything, leaving Jon at Winterfell under Stark protection was the safer choice.
Ned remembered his sister's dying words. "Ned, promise me."
She had cried out to him in that room thick with blood and the scent of roses. The fever had drained her of all strength. Her voice had been no more than a whisper.
But when he swore to keep his word, the fear in her eyes had vanished in an instant.
Ned remembered her last smile, and how tightly she had gripped his hand before she slipped away. Rose petals had spilled from her palm, dark and lifeless.
What happened after, he could not recall.
When they found him, he was still holding her lifeless body, too grief-stricken to speak.
The roses seemed to have grown thorns that had taken root in his memory.
Ned watched Jon and Robb laughing as they fought. These boys were still too young to understand the taste of power and war.