The Arrival
Two days later, the bells of King's Landing rang again.
This time, they didn't ring in panic or as a secret code for a hiding stag. They rang in celebration. Or at least, the forced, desperate celebration of a city that just wanted the soldiers to stop killing people.
Ned Stark, with a newly secured Ice ancestral Valyrian steel sword of Stark's at his hip, stood atop the walls of the Gate of the Gods, looking down at the Kingsroad. Beside him stood Tywin Lannister.
They were a study in contrasts. Tywin was resplendent in gold armor, his crimson cloak billowing in the wind, his face a mask of bored superiority. Ned was dressed in simple grey wool and battered mail, the dust of the Trident still clinging to his boots.
"He comes," Tywin said, his voice devoid of emotion.
Below them, the vanguard of the main rebel host was approaching. The banners of House Baratheon, House Arryn, and House Tully snapped in the breeze. Thousands of men marched in good order, a stark difference to the chaotic mob of westermen who had sacked the city days prior.
"So he does," Ned replied.
"You have kept the city... intact," Tywin observed, his eyes scanning the streets where Stark patrols were aggressively maintaining order.
"I kept it breathing," Ned corrected. "There is a difference."
"Robert will expect a coronation," Tywin said. "The Throne Room is scrubbed?"
"The blood is gone," Ned said. "The smell isn't."
He turned away from the parapet.
"Come, Lord Tywin. The King is here. We shouldn't keep him waiting."
The Tower of the Hand
Before the council convened, Ned had one final loose end to secure.
He made his way to the Tower of the Hand. The entrance was barricaded by Umber men who looked more like bears in plate mail than guards. They saluted as Ned passed.
Inside the solar, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Princess Elia sat by the hearth, clutching Rhaenys as if the stones themselves might attack her.
Standing between them and the door was Ser Jaime Lannister. He had cleaned his armor, but the scratching on the white enamel from the fighting remained. He looked exhausted, leaning slightly against a heavy oak table.
"Lord Stark," Jaime said, straightening up as Ned entered.
"Ser Jaime," Ned replied. "Your father is in the city. He's riding to meet Robert now."
Jaime's expression tightened, a flicker of something painful crossing his face. "I know. Uncle Kevan came to see me. He brought a message."
"Let me guess," Ned said, pouring himself a cup of water from a pitcher on the table. "Lord Tywin wants you to put down the white cloak and pick up the crimson one. He wants his heir back."
Jaime let out a bitter laugh. "He commanded it. Said my time 'playing guard' was over. He thinks he can just wipe away the vows because we won the war."
"Tywin Lannister thinks he can buy anything," Ned noted. "Even honor."
"He mentioned Tyrion," Jaime said, his voice dropping. "My brother. Father... he hates him. He calls him a stunted creature. He said that if I didn't return to the Rock, he'd be forced to leave the legacy to a 'monster'."
Ned paused. His internal Wiki flashed with the stats of Tyrion Lannister: Intelligence: Genius. Charisma: High. Liability: Physical.
"Your father is a fool if he thinks size determines worth," Ned said quietly. "I've never met your brother, but I hear he reads as much as most men drink. A sharp mind can build an empire better than a sharp sword, Jaime. If your father can't see the asset he has in Tyrion, that's his failure, not yours."
Jaime looked at Ned, surprised. "Most people just mock him."
"Most people are idiots," Ned shrugged. "But the choice is yours. Do you want to be the Lord of Casterly Rock? Do you want to rule the West?"
"I don't know what I want," Jaime admitted, looking at his hands. "I joined the Kingsguard to be like Arthur Dayne. To be a hero. Instead, I spent two years listening to a madman burn people while I stood outside the door. I listened to Queen Rhaella scream, Stark. I listened to him hurt Elia."
He looked at the Princess, shame burning in his eyes.
"We were told that we guarded the King, not the Queen. That the King couldn't harm his own family. It was a lie. We were just fancy furniture for a monster."
"Then stop being furniture," Ned said firmly.
He stepped closer to the young knight.
"A white cloak binds you, Jaime. It binds you to obey, to stand silent, to watch. It strips you of your voice and your will. Is that what you want? To trade one mad master for another, who knows how it will turn out?"
Jaime looked up, startled. "Robert..."
"Robert is a good man, but he is a King. And Kings demand obedience," Ned said. "You asked where you can do the most good. It isn't standing outside a door."
Ned gestured to the window, toward the west.
"It's at Casterly Rock."
"My father..." Jaime started.
"Your father rules through fear," Ned interrupted. "He sacked this city to prove a point. He sent monsters to kill children. That is the legacy of House Lannister right now. Blood and gold."
Ned looked him in the eye.
"Go home, Jaime. Take off the cloak. Become the heir your father wants, but not the man he expects. Be the Lord of Casterly Rock. You have vast lands, thousands of subjects. You have the power to feed them, to protect them, to give them justice. You can right your father's wrongs in a way no Kingsguard ever could."
Jaime stared at him. The idea seemed to take root, fighting against years of conditioning.
"You think I should leave?"
"I think the realm needs a good Lord Lannister more than it needs another sword in a white cloak," Ned said. "Redeem your honor by ruling well. By being the Lion who protects the pride, not the one who eats the cubs."
Jaime took a deep breath. He looked down at his white armor, seeing the stains and the scratches. Then he looked at Elia.
"I... I think you might be right," Jaime whispered. "I'm tired of watching."
"Then don't," Ned said. "But for today... for right now... I need you to hold this door one last time. Until the King arrives and we settle the fate of the Princess. Can you do that?"
Jaime straightened his shoulders. "I can. No one gets past me."
"Good," Ned nodded. "Because I need to go yell at a King."
The Small Council Chamber
The room was too small for the egos it contained.
Robert Baratheon sprawled at the head of the table, his bandaged leg elevated. He looked pale, sweating through his tunic, but the crown—a hastily procured golden circlet—sat on his black hair.
Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully sat to his right. Tywin Lannister sat to his left, looking like a statue carved from ice and gold.
Ned entered and took the seat opposite Robert.
"Ned!" Robert roared, though the volume made him wince. "Finally! We've been waiting. Tywin tells me you've been busy playing city watch commander."
"Someone had to stop the looting," Ned said coolly, glancing at Tywin. "Before there was no city left to rule."
"Details," Robert waved a hand. "We won, Ned! The dragon is dead. The throne is ours."
He leaned forward, his eyes darkening.
"Now. Where are they?"
"Where is who?" Ned asked calmly.
"You know who. Rhaegar's spawn. The Martell woman. Tywin says you have them locked up in the Tower of the Hand."
"I have them under protection," Ned corrected.
"Bring them out," Robert commanded. "I want to see them. I want to see the end of the dragon line."
"To what end?" Ned asked. "Do you intend to execute a little girl and a grieving mother?"
"They are Targaryens!" Robert shouted, slamming his fist on the table. "They are the seed of the monster who took Lyanna! As long as they live, the realm bleeds!"
"The realm bleeds because we fought a war," Ned shot back. "The war is over, Robert. Killing children isn't justice. It's vengeance. And it's weak."
"Weak?" Robert's face turned purple. "You call me weak?"
"I call you a man about to make a mistake that history will never forgive," Ned said. He stood up, leaning over the table. "I didn't march south to become a child-killer. I didn't build a bridge in four days to watch you turn into Aerys."
"Careful, Stark," Tywin warned softly.
Ned rounded on him. "Be silent, Lord Tywin. We all know what you intended. You sent the Mountain to the nursery. You wanted to present Robert with broken bodies so you could wash your hands of your late arrival."
Tywin's expression didn't flicker, but the air in the room grew deadly cold. "I sought to secure the succession."
"You sought to murder a baby," Ned snapped. "Well, you succeeded with the boy. Aegon is dead. But the girl lives. And she stays living."
"The boy is dead?" Robert asked, his anger deflating slightly.
"Killed in the sack," Ned lied smoothly. "But Rhaenys lives. And Elia lives."
"They cannot stay here," Robert grumbled. "I won't have them in my sight."
"Then send them away," Jon Arryn interjected, playing the peacemaker. "Ned offers them sanctuary in the North. They will be hostages, Robert. Insurance against Dorne. If we kill them, Dorne rises. If we keep them, Dorne kneels."
Robert looked at Jon, then at Ned. He hated it. He wanted to smash every vestige of Rhaegar from the world. But he saw the look in Ned's eyes. The steel.
"You'd fight me for them?" Robert asked, hurt leaking into his voice. "For Rhaegar's runts?"
"I'd fight you for your own honor," Ned said. "Because you're my brother, and I won't let you damn yourself."
Robert sighed, a heavy, rattling sound. "Fine. Take them. Take the damn girl. Take the woman. Freeze them in Winterfell. Just get them out of my city."
"And a marriage?" Jon Arryn ventured cautiously. "To unite the claims? Rhaenys to your heir?"
"NO!"
Robert's rejection was instantaneous and violent. He slammed his hand onto the table, making the wine goblets jump.
"I will not have my son marry a dragonspawn!" Robert shouted, spittle flying. "I will not have that... that tainted blood mixed with mine! Never! I want the dragon blood gone!"
Ned stared at him. He felt the sheer stupidity of the statement bubbling up like bile.
"Tainted blood?" Ned asked quietly.
"Yes! Dragon filth! It's madness in the veins!"
"Robert," Ned said, his voice dangerously calm. "Who was your grandmother?"
Robert paused, blinking. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Answer me," Ned demanded. "Who was your grandmother?"
"Rhaelle," Robert muttered. "Rhaelle Targaryen."
"Rhaelle Targaryen!" Ned shouted, his voice cracking like a whip across the room. "Daughter of Aegon the Fifth! Your grandmother was a Targaryen, for gods' sake!"
The room went deadly silent. Tywin Lannister looked mildly amused. Jon Arryn looked at the ceiling.
"You have dragon blood in you, you stupid bastard!" Ned snapped, leaning over the table to get in the King's face. "That's why you're the King! That's the claim! We didn't pick you just because you have a big hammer. We picked you because you had the best bloodline!"
Robert opened his mouth to argue, but Ned cut him off.
"Do you hear yourself? 'Dragonspawn this, dragonspawn that.' You are a quarter dragonspawn yourself! Your father was half-Targaryen! If dragon blood is tainted, then so are you! So is Stannis! So is Renly!"
Robert sat there, mouth agape. He looked stunned. No one spoke to him like that. Not anymore.
"Think with a calm mind, damn it!" Ned shouted, slamming his hand on the table for emphasis. "You're a bloody King now! Stop acting like a hurt suitor and start acting like a ruler! Don't go spouting this kind of nonsense outside this room, or everyone will laugh at you! 'The King who hates his own grandmother!' Is that the song you want them to sing?"
Robert looked at Jon Arryn. Jon shrugged helplessly. He looked at Hoster. Hoster was inspecting his fingernails.
Robert let out a long, heavy sigh. The anger seemed to deflate out of him, punctured by Ned's logic.
"I hate it when you yell," Robert mumbled, looking like a chastised schoolboy.
"I yell when you're being an idiot," Ned said, straightening up.
"Fine," Robert grumbled. "Fine! You win. You always win. Take the girl. Take the mother. Keep them in Winterfell. Marry her to your son, marry her to a snow bear, I don't care. Just... keep them away from me."
"So it is final," Ned declared, looking around the room to ensure there were no objections. "Elia Martell and Princess Rhaenys will live in Winterfell under my protection. Rhaenys will marry my son, my son, or perhaps your son in the future if you gain some sense. They are wards of the North."
"Done," Jon Arryn said, scribbling it down before Robert could change his mind. "It is settled."
"Done," Ned said.
"There is also the matter of the other prisoners," Ned continued, not giving Robert time to change his mind. "Varys and Pycelle are in the black cells."
Jon Arryn frowned. "Grand Maester Pycelle?"
"He opened the gates," Ned said. "He convinced Aerys that Tywin was a friend. He betrayed his King. And Varys... he's a spy who served a madman. I don't trust either of them."
"Keep them in irons for now," Robert agreed. "And the Kingslayer?"
"Jaime Lannister should be released from the Kingsguard," Ned said firmly.
Hoster Tully scoffed. "Released? He killed the King he swore to protect! He should be sent to the Wall!"
"He killed a King who was about to burn this city to ash," Ned revealed.
He told them about the wildfire. About Rossart. About the order to burn them all.
The room went silent.
"He saved us all," Ned finished. "He is a hero. But he is done with guarding Kings. Let him go home, Robert. Let him be Lord of Casterly Rock. He has earned a life of his own."
Tywin Lannister looked at Ned. For a fraction of a second, his green eyes went wide—a crack in the porcelain mask of the Lion. He stared at the Stark lord, genuinely stunned that the man who despised his methods was now handing him back his greatest desire—his son.
Then, the mask slammed back down. Tywin nodded once, a curt, stiff motion.
"Done," Robert said, waving a hand. "I don't care. Send him back to the Rock. Just... get me more wine."
Ned nodded. He felt a wave of exhaustion hit him. The politics were more tiring than the fighting.
He stood up.
"Where are you going?" Robert asked. "We have to plan the coronation. The feast."
"I'm leaving," Ned said.
"Leaving?" Robert looked up. "We just got here!"
"I am leaving this cesspit of a city," Ned said, looking at the walls with distaste. "I have done my part. I won your war. I gave you a crown. Now I have business of my own."
"What business?"
"My sister," Ned said softly. "I have leads on where she might be. Rhaegar didn't keep her in the city. My sources tell me she's in the south. Dorne."
Robert's face fell. The mention of Lyanna sucked the air out of the room. "Lyanna... bring her back, Ned. Bring her home."
"I will," Ned promised.
He turned to the door.
"One last thing," Jon Arryn said. "Ned... the siege of Storm's End. Mace Tyrell still holds it. Stannis is starving. We need the army to lift the siege."
Ned paused. He looked at Tywin Lannister.
"Ask Lord Lannister to do it," Ned said.
Tywin looked up, eyebrows raised.
"Or Lord Tully," Ned added.
"Me?" Hoster asked. "My men are tired, Lord Stark."
"So are mine," Ned snapped. "My men marched from the Wall to the Red Keep. They fought at the Bells, the Trident, and the Sack. They are done."
He gestured to Tywin.
"Lord Tywin has a fresh army. Twelve thousand men who have done nothing but sack an unarmed city and kill a few guards. Let him ride to Storm's End. Let the Lion prove his loyalty by facing the Tyrell host. If Mace sees the Lannister banners, he'll dip his banners and surrender without a fight."
Ned looked at Hoster.
"Or you go, Lord Tully. Stannis is to be your son-in-law. Go rescue him. It would be a nice family bonding moment."
Ned looked back at Robert.
"I'm going to find Lyanna. Don't burn the city down while I'm gone."
With that, Eddard Stark turned on his heel and walked out of the Small Council chamber.
He left a silence behind him that was heavier than gold.