Chapter 24
Beric felt a dull ache behind his eyes and knew only the dream. He was tired. So tired… the eternal sleep was beckoning him forth and he felt ready join the Black Wolf and his pack. The last thing he remembered was battle. Four bull trolls had caught him in a blind spot and were hammering him with their armoured fists. He had felt his arm and legs breaking then the world had gone dark.
The world was wreathed in blurred shadows as he stumbled down the corridor. The air felt so thick, the Witcher might as well have been walking through treacle. A dim light shone at the end of the corridor, Beric could almost make out the sounds of metal thwacking against wood drifting towards him from the light.
When he finally got there, Beric found himself standing in one of Winterfell’s yards. Yet it was different in half a hundred imperceptible ways and one quite noticeable way: the weirwood tree with flaming leaves sprouting from the centre of the yard. The face carved into the tree seemed sad as it weeped red sap. The Gods are watching, he thought. The sky was also quite noticeably different, a great grey void dotted with a few stars that burned blue against the cold. Beric had the strange sense that they were eyes.
The yard was deserted but for one figure standing with his back to Beric, striking a training dummy with practiced strokes. The man was taller and broader than Beric, with silver hair that went past his shoulders. Beric knew the man before him before his eyes fell to Foesmasher as it rested on the ground.
He tried to call out to his older brother, but the words caught in his throat and he could only cough. Having heard him, Artos Stark turned and regarded Beric with a wide grin. In life, Artos had been said to be one of the most handsome men in the realm. No doubt thanks to their mother, Shiera. Artos had inherited all of their mother’s Valyrian beauty and their father’s strength.
“You got old, Stubby.”
No, brother. The rest of you did… Beric thought sadly.
In his life, he had known six of his older siblings. All had eventually grown old and died. He left a piece of himself behind every time he buried them. Beric had never known pain like seeing the people who had been so much stronger than him in his youth, grow frail and sick, while he stayed the same.
“After all this time, you’ve nothing to say to me?” Artos raised an eyebrow as he scratched his annoyingly sharp jaw. “And here I thought I was your favourite.”
That got a chuckle from Beric. “I never had favourites.” He said, bashfully.
“Of course. Of course…” Artos nodded with a smirk. “Care for a spar?” He picked up another training sword and held it out to Beric. “I doubt you’ve had anyone better to face since I’ve been gone.”
Beric took the blade. “I dare say Ned could give you a run for your money.”
“Is that so?” Artos stepped forward, holding his blade on guard.
“I see some of you in him.” He had noticed that both Ned and Atros were fiercely loyal men. The kind of men you would want by your side as they would always be the last to fall in defence of their pack. “What is this place?” Beric asked. “Why are you here?” He slowly stepped around his older brother, keeping his sword between them.
“I am here because you are here.” Artos advanced and cut high.
Beric quickly remembered he shouldn’t try to block Artos’ sword when he felt the clang of their blades reverberate through his arm. He spun away and aimed a slash low. Artos only lifted his foot over Beric’s blade and attacked again. A quick exchange of blows, parries and dodges followed. Beric knew he was overmatched by his older brother.
Everyone was.
“It never was easy growing up in your shadow.” Beric found himself saying, he thought he saw hurt in Artos’ eyes.
“Is that why you became a Witcher?” He asked, dodging under Beric’s cut. That caught Beric off guard. A sudden kick sent him stumbling back on the defence. “You wanted to impress me?”
“No.” Beric parried a blow that he then returned, his blade nearly catching flesh.
“Didn’t you care that you’d outlive us all?” Artos was angrier, his attacks growing in ferocity.
“I gave no thought to the future other than the adventures of a Witcher.” One by one, his family had died until eventually he had been alone with only their memory to comfort him.
“Did you feel strong when you could still wrestle with trolls as we grew to weak to lift our swords?”
“No!” The tears stung Beric’s eyes as he blocked Artos’ assault. “You were my brothers and sisters, we were meant to be together.”
Then Artos stopped. “Do you wish to join us then?” He asked. Beric felt the weight of his years on him then. He fell to his knees, dropping his sword into the dirt.
“Maybe…”
With a crackle of lightning, Artos summoned Foeshamer to his hand and hurled it at Beric. The world went white as the hammer hit Beric like the fist of an angry giant.
When the Witcher came to, he was sprawled out on a wooden floor, looking up at a vaulted ceiling. Near instantly he knew he was in Winterfell. In the moments following, he worked out who’s room he was in.
“There were times I thought that.” Beric heard a weezing groan coming from his left. He turned onto his side and rose to his knees. For the first time in forty years, Beric saw his immediate older brother.
“Rodrick.” Beric smilled shuffled over to his older brother who’s chair had been perched beside an open window overlooking the training yards. Rodrick’s Ulthossi sword, Obsidian rested against the back of the chair. Beric didn’t have favourites. But if he did, it would have been Rodrick.
The injuries of the final Blackfyre Rebellion had confined the Wandering Wolf to a wheeled chair for the rest of his days. When he had seen Rodrick fall from the skies, Beric had thought he had lost his brother. Yet through a tremendous amount of effort, Rodrick Stark had lived. His body was broken, but he had lived. Even crippled, every extra day had been a blessing.
“I’ve missed you.” Was all Beric could think to say.
“I should expect so.” Rodrick cracked a crooked, half-toothless smile.
It was a bitter happiness to see his brother again. Rodrick had been a mighty man, who explored further than any Stark before him. He had wandered far and wide, seeing much and learning more. But his final years had been unkind to him. While his mind remained sharp until his last breath, his body had been reduced to a shell of it’s former self.
The Gods were indeed cruel.
“You don’t think I sometimes felt that it was my time to go?” Rodrick’s words brought Beric from his thoughts. “My body became my prison and I became a weight on the people I held most dear.”
“That’s not tr-“
“I haven’t finished.” Rodrick stopped him. “Of course I felt as you do now. But these feelings come and go. If I had not survived my wounds, I would never had held my grandchildren.” Rodrick smilled warmly. The memories of seeing his brother playing with baby Brandon, Ned and Benjen nearly brought a tear to Beric’s eye. “And to see my children grow and have children of their own, I would have gladly spent a hundred years in this chair.” Rodrick took Beric’s hands in his own.
“You should have been there to see when Ned claimed Snowsong.” Beric chuckled. “Lyarra was beeming with pride.”
“My dragon always did have impeccable taste.”
“And what of Blackadder?” Beric asked. “Snowsong still reigns as the Ice Queen of the skies. What of my dragon?” Blackadder had died sooner than Rodrick, also from wounds gained in the War of the Nine Penny Kings. Beric had felt he had lost a part of himself when he laid his dragon to rest.
“He’s… well.” Rodrick responded. “Mayhaps you will see him again… But not yet.”
The world went dark and Beric was alone again. When the light came back, it was from one singular pyre in the darkness. It took a moment for the old Witcher’s eyes to adjust, but eventually he saw what it was. Rickard’s body was suspended over a pyre of wildfyre in full Uru armor.
Around Winterfell it had been whispered what had befallen Rickard at the beginning of the Rebellion. Beric had forbade it from being spoken of if only to protect young Benjen. In the end if mattered not. All knew Rickard Stark had been roasted inside his own armour.
Only Beric knew that it had been his fault.
“Is that what you believe, Uncle?” Rickard croacked through blistered lips, giving Beric a start. “You feel this is your doing?”
“You wanted to ride south with all the dragon riders our house could muster.” Beric had talked him down from the more rash action, councilling that he had a far greater chance of getting what he wanted by not threatening anyone. As Brandon had already tried that and failed.
“You did not light this pyre.” Rickard croacked again. The smell of burned flesh was filling Beric’s nose.
“If you had a dragon with you, it wouldn’t have been lit.”
“You don’t know that. I well-knew I could die going south. I was the Prince of Winterfell. I am responsible for my own decisions. If I had gone south on Moonhowler’s back, they would have killed Brandon without a second thought. Then set all the dragons of their allies on me.”
Beric had no words in answer to his nephew. “Long have you carried my death with you.” Rickard said. “And I refuse to allow you to continue letting me drag you down.”
With that, Beric was falling again.
He landed in soft mud. When his vision returned to him, Beric found himself lying in the main yard of Wildmount, the castle that housed the Witcher school of the Wolf.
“Of all my years training Witchers, you are the one that always got up the quickest.” Samara said as she walked around him, sword in hand.
“I wanted to prove I belonged.” Beric groaned as he rolled to his feet and rose, muddy and aching from the ground.
“You did.” She smirked. “A hundred times over.” She went low and swung her sword at his knee, Beric blocked then returned the blow. “You would wake up the earliest and stay the latest in the yard.”
“I wanted to be the best.”
“You would train until your bones cracked.” Their blades sung as they clashed together. “And in all that time I never knew you to give up.”
So why do you want to now… The words left unsaid between them.
“I think…” Beric panted as he blocked another one of Samara’s strikes. “I think Witchers live too long…”
“You say that like I’m not much older than you.”
“Do you ever get tired of it?” The blood. The fighting. Everyone else dying. Beric had seen Rickard and Lyarra when they were born, as they grew old and then their deaths. Now he was watching the same happen to their children and their children’s children.
“Yes.” Samara finally said. “But then I remember something...” She punched Beric in the face so hard he hit the ground. “As long as there is life in my body, I will defend my family.”
Before Beric knew it, the world changed again. In one instant we was in Wildmount, the next he was standing in a void, looking at Tetra and Yennefer. Their twin purple eyes gazed up at him.
“Get up, Witcher.” Tetra said, reaching out to him.
“Father…” Was all Yennfer said. In truth it was all she needed to say. He never could deny his daughter. Beric reached out to them but before their hands could meet, he found himself submerged in water. His vision was blurred and his lungs held no air.
Lunging out of the water, Beric felt more alive than he had in years. He was surrounded by figures all standing around the pool he had been in.
Tetra’s was the voice he heard first. “A shame…” She said. “I quite liked the grizzled older Witcher look.”
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Ned
In truth, it had only been weeks since Ned had left Riverrun for Renly’s camp, but Ned felt like it had been moons since he’d last seen the triangular castle standing tall in the deep river. Snowsong beat her wings hard in the castle’s direction, knowing that rest and food were close at hand.
Their newly acquired prisoner was bound in Dimeritium, gagged, blindfolded and tied to the saddle behind Ned. Brienne had been moved to Aly’s dragon as there wasn’t space for Ned, her and their prisoner all on one saddle. At least not a comfortable amount of space.
The red woman hadn’t said a word after Aly had captured her as she tried to infiltrate their camp. So Ned could only assume Stannis had sent her to track them and deliver them the same shadowed executioner he had sent for his brother. It still left a bitter taste in Ned’s mouth. In the eyes of the Gods, none were more acuresed than a kinslayer.
Mayhaps Stannis’ new God doesn’t care, Ned pondered. It mattered not to Ned, any man who would murder his own brother would never have his fealty. That only left him one, rather annoying option.
What would Robert think of me now?
Ned had failed his friend in life and in death. He was in a grim mood as he set Snowsong down on the Northern bank of the Tumbleston, Sansa and Aly following close behind. The camp had changed somewhat in his absence, Ned could only imagine that the Amazons had finally arrived and added their forces to the Northmen and Riverlander armies.
He was making sure Sansa and Aly were safely off their dragons when Sylvie strode towards him and pulled him in for a deep kiss. The Child of the Forest pressed her body against his as their lips met, lovingly.
“I’ve missed you, my dear.” She breathed after their parted. Sansa crinkled her nose in disgust and looked away. Aly only chuckled. “Your wives instructed me to bring you to them once you arrived.” Sylvie added.
“Then I shall not keep them waiting.” Ned then turned to Sansa. “Please make sure Lady Brienne has appropriate accommodation, I shall leave her in your care.”
“Yes father.” Sansa kissed his cheek then led Brienne away, who bowed stiffly to Ned before following Sansa across one of the many small wooden bridges that dwarven engineers had erected over the river for easy crossings.
Ned then turned to Aly. “Please see that the Red Woman is put in our most secure dungeon and inform Yennefer and Triss of all that we know of her.” Ned ordered. His baseborn cousin did as she was bid with a nod. Ned needed to remember to thank her properly and reward her for her actions. But that would have to be in the future.
“I believe my wives are waiting for us.” Ned said to Sylvie as they set off for the keep.
“Collect some passengers, did we?” Sylvie nodded to to the the bound woman Aly was pulling off Ned’s saddle.
“An Essosi sorceress in Stannis’ service.” Ned informed her. “He used her shadow magic to murder his brother.” The information clearly shocked her. It was no surprise. The laws against kinslaying were even more sacred to the Children of the Forest than they were to the First Men.
“So your diplomatic mission did not go as planned.”
“No.” Ned intoned sourly. “It did not.”
It did not take them long to find Ned’s wives, all three of them were together in the solar of their rooms in Riverrun. Though when Ned saw them, he felt as though he was looking into the past. It seemed the years had been stripped away from all three of them as they had Ned.
They looked barely a day older than when Arya and Alyrianne had been born. He could only assume Hippolyta had given them the same Themyscira waters that he had recieced. Cat, Ash and Elia each embraced Ned heartily before he told them all that had happened to him on his most recent journey south.
“Gods be good…” Ash pinched the bridge of her nose as she chewed her bottom lip angrily. “His own brother…”
“Let us not forget that Renly wished to steal his older brother’s inheritance and abandoned Ned in his hour of need.” Cat stated. “He deserved death, but not in such a way.”
“Do we know if he has more deciples of the Red God in her service?” Elia asked. “Could he send these… Shadow-people after us as well?”
“I do not know if he has others following him.” Ned admitted. “But even if he doesn’t, I shall have our magical wards trippled.”
“What do we do with his Red Woman?” Sylvie asked, leaning against a table.
“She may be of use.” Ned answered her. “But she will be under constant guard by our best arcane practitioners.”
“It seems clear to me that we can never follow Stannis now.” Ash stated. “Nor can we follow a dead man.”
“And the Lannisters are a non-starter.” Elia added.
Ned only grunted in response, he could tell where his wives her aiming the conversation.
The only option left, and the most annoying.
“I’d like to be there when you tell Robb you’re taking his crown from him.” Sylvie chuckled.
—————————
It did not take Ned long to find his oldest sons, they were discussing a push further into the Westerlands with Hippolyta and the Blackfish in the great hall. All three were pleased to see him again, with Hippolyta sending for Nubia to be Ned’s sworn shield again.
Togther, they told Ned of all that had happened in his absence. His sons had lead a sortie into the Westerlands to repay the Lannisters for their treatment of the Riverlands. Gold, food and livestock had all been taken from the Lannister land and distributed amoung the Riverlords. Their forces had sacked Sarsfield and were maruading through the north of the Westerlands as they pleased. Robb and Jon had only returned to Riverrun to bring their wounded back, gather reinforcements and plan the attack on Lannisport and then Casterly Rock.
Ned almost felt that he didn’t need to take part in the war. His sons seemed to be fairing more than well enough without his input. With the good news, however, came more troubling information. Ned was told that Beric had been grievously injured during the attack on the Lannister forces at Oxcross and that only the Amazon’s healing waters had saved him.
More troubling still, came the news that one of the dragonseeds had been responsible for it and many more needless deaths besides. A fury filled Ned’s being at that knowledge. He had sent for Cleaton Snow immediately.
“Father, we have already spoken to him of this.” Jon said as they waited for Cleaton Snow to arrive.
“How many men died because of his mishap?” Was Ned’s only response.
“Five-hundred. Give or take.” Robb answered. “The vanguard of the attack.”
“And if Tetra had not done what she did, the Lannisters might have even won the battle thanks to his poor judgment.” Ned’s voice was ice. He could accept ego in his soldiers. He could even accept a lack of common manners. But the Gods would sunder the world before Ned accepted a soldier that wilfully ignored orders and got others killed for it.
With the opening of the door came Cleaton, striding through in ill-fitting fine silks and a ring on every finger. His nose was slightly bent out of shape after, what his sons told him was Samara’s response to his actions.
“Your grace.” Cleaton bowed slightly. Ned was almost tempted to not give him a chance to explain himself. “I’ve heard there will be no alliances with sourthern kings now?”
“Indeed.” Ned answered him, taking a firm gripe on his annoyance. “Stannis killed Renly and I shall not join with a kinslayer.”
“Good. The North needs no southern kings.” Cleaton smilled in a way that nearly reminded Ned of Brandon. “There is something I wished to speak with you about.” Cleaton continued before Ned could speak. “I have sacked many keeps in the Westerlands for you on Snowfall’s back. I was the one who took Sarsfield in your name. I ride the second biggest dragon in our army and I am the heir of your older brother.” Ned clenched his teeth at that. “I believe I am owed a reward.”
“…Reward?” Ned said, slowly. The gall of the man surprising him.
“Sansa should be my bride. For all I have done for you.” Cleaton stated, raising his chin to try and look confident.
Ned’s face was stone. Robb began to speak but Ned silenced him with a raised hand. “You speak of your great victories.” He said softly, looking Cleaton squarely in the eye. “My sons tell me a different tale. They say you would repeatedly ignore their orders instead choosing to follow your own whims. They also say you lead a sortie to plunder a dozen villages against their orders.”
The colour seemed to drain from Cleaton’s face.
“Though they left the worst for the last.” Ned continued. “They told me your foolishness got five-hundred men killed at the battle of Oxcross, and that my uncle was nearly among them.”
“The fault was not mine.” Cleaton protested. “The Luminarks blinded Snowfall, she couldn’t see where she was aiming.”
“And how did they blind your dragon!” Ned raised his voice, angry that Cleaton would place the blame of his actions on the dragon his mother had ridden. “You attacked when my sons told you not to and five hundred of my men paid for it!” Ned clenched his jaw. “You come before me, colthing yourself in stolen glory and you say I owe you my daughter?”
“I-I-“ Cleaton stammered.
“You are temporarily barred from ridding Snowfall.” Ned said. “Until you learn some humility. The dragon guards will be told to put you in the dungeons if they see you near Snowfall, see to it Ser Brynden.”
“At once.” Cat’s uncle said, then left the hall.
“Now leave me.” Ned told Cleaton.
Were you not my brother’s son, your punishment would be much more final.
Ned turned back to the map on the large table, not even looking at Cleaton as he exited the hall. The more rational side of Ned’s mind felt that he could have been more tactful in dealing with the young man who’d been given more than he could ever dream of in such a short amount of time. Doubtless it would take time for the boy to find his head. Nevertheless, they were at war and couldn’t countenance foolishness.
“I say we kill him and find another rider for his dragon.” Hippolyta said, breaking the silence. “Diana has Stark blood, and her competence is unquestionable...”
“He is my brother’s son.” Ned stated, flatly. “And besides, there are few more accursed in the eyes of the Gods than a kinslayer.” Thoughts of Renly and Stannis’ shadow warrior ran through his mind again. The thought of killing another member of his family sickend him deeply. Ned would never be able to understand how a man could kill his own brother.
“So someone else should wield the knife.” Hippolyta responded, crossing her arms.
Robb spoke up. “The blood would still be on our hands be it through action or inaction.”
“This is not your land, so you may have difficulty understanding.” Jon added, “The Starks are a pack. We do not turn on one another-”
Their conversation was interrupted when a side door opened and Nubia walked in, wearing light armour with her sword on her belt. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’ve been avoiding me.” She grinned at Ned as she strode over to him.
“Now why would I wish to part from a sworn shield as lovely as you?” Ned chuckled. “As it happens, I have a message from Dorrk and Korra.” Nubia ran a hand over Ned’s metal arm when she reached him. “They have ideas on how to improve this.”
Ned excused himself, leaving his sons and Hippolyta to make plans and followed Nubia to the castle forge. It was not as large or as sophisticated as Winterfell’s main forge and not a scratch on the forge of any Dwarven stronghold Ned had ever visited, but it was still servicable enough. Dorrk and Korra were having an animated discussion about metalwork with Yennefer pouring over some notes on a table when Ned and Nubia arrived.
“Ah, Ned!” The grey skinned dwarf exclaimed when Ned walked into the forge. “Come, come.” He gestured to a crucible that was the size of a man. “Korra and I have cooked up something special for you.”
“Aye.” Korra added. “That metal arm of yours is an antique now. Time to get the new and improved version.”
“And I will have some magic of my own to add.” Yennefer barely looked up from her notes as she talked. Ned walked up the few steps that surrounded the crucible so he could look inside it. Unsurprisingly it was filled to the brim with molten metal.
“That’s the purest Black Uru I have ever produced in my life.” Dorrk loudly proclaimed, beeming.
“And I’ve added Amazon magics to it.” Korra added. “Just dip your metal arm in their and let me do my work.”
“Your work never ceases to amaze.” Ned said gratefully as he removed his shirt, leant over and plunged his metal arm into the Uru. It felt exactly as it had the first time, almost like his arm had been submerged in a warm bath. Dorrk and Korra both chanted their spells and the glow of the molten Uru changed from orange to red, to green, to blue, to purple and many other colours Ned couldn’t name.
Eventually they were done and Ned was allowed to pull his arm from the crucible. It felt exactly as it had before, only now the arm was completely black but for the telltale veins of grey and white that showed it to be Uru.
“It feels stronger than ever.” Ned praised the forgemasters as he ran his flesh hand over the rough, stone-like metal.
“And if you’ll allow me,” Yennefer cut in, talking over Dorkk and Korra as they jabbered about the metal and magic they’d used together. “I can make the arm look better than ever too.” She then held out her hand and said arcane words of the Old Tongue. Yennefer’s eyes shone with blue light and Ned’s arm began to shimmer and change before his eyes. In moments, it changed from metal to normal flesh again. It was as though he had never lost his arm.
“You will be able to change how it looks at will.” Yennefer said, proudly.
After Ned finished admiring the illusion he turned to Yennefer. “I doubt I shall ever be able to repay you.” Ned took her into his arms and kissed her.
“I can imagine a few ways you could make a start.” She smiled against his lips.
After Ned recieved his new and improved arm, he redressed and set off to find Myrcella. He had spent so little time at Riverrun when he first arrived that he had not gone to check on her. As she was the reason he was alive and away from captivity, he owed her a great deal.
Ned found her in the guest quarters with Harris standing guard at her door. He left Nubia standing alongside the Chosen Man when he entered the bed chamber. Myrcella was wearing a dress that seemed to have belonged to Cat in her youth. The girl hadn’t had a chance to bring her own dresses with her out of King’s Landing, so she had to make do with hand-me-downs.
She sat with Sansa together in armchairs by the fire, sewing. “Father.” Sansa rose to her feet when he entered. Putting down her needle and thread she walked over to him and gave him a warm hug.
“Prince Stark.” Myrcella greeted him, also rising. Though somewhat slower due to her pregnancy swollen belly.
“No need to rise.” Ned held a hand up as he looked to her. “You should rest.”
“It seems all my days are spent resting now.” Myrcella said as she waddled over to Ned and Sansa.
“I made sure Brienne was settled before came to Myrcella.” Sansa stated.
“No doubt you wanted to make sure your goodsister was fairing well in your absence.” Ned chuckled.
Myrcella put a hand on Sansa’s shoulder. “Your daughter has been very kind to me. Rhaenys too. They all have.”
“You are family.” Ned said, simply. “You have my grandchild in your belly. You are one of us now.”
“I am truly grateful.” Myrcella looked up at him with her big green eyes.
“I am glad to see you well, child.” Ned said. “Are you sure you do not wish to be taken North with your great aunt?” Jon had told Ned that Genna had offered to take Myrcella to the much more secure North, but she and refused.
“I am.” The blonde girl responded. “I do not wish to be parted from Jon and Robb.” Ned almost didn’t hear the small scoff Sansa gave under her breath. It made him chuckle in amusment.
“As you wish.” Ned said before bidding farewell to the girls and leaving for his solar.
There were certain administrative duties he had been neglecting since his return from Themyscira that Ned intended to see were fulfilled. The first of which was a letter they had received from Doran in Ned’s absence. Ned read it alone in his solar as his wives were either with the children, or in Cat’s case, with her father.
Doran’s letter told him of the joy they had all felt when they had been given the news of his survival. It spoke of the attacks the Dornish had made on Lannister ships sailing around the coast of Dorne now that they could no longer use the Great Canal. The Dornish were certainly growing rich of their Lannister plunder.
Doran also wrote of giving his support to Ned and his cause, but also made clear that the great distance between the North, the Riverlands and Dorne made a direct alliance difficult. Ned supposed he was correct, and he hardly exepcted Doran to hand Dornish sovereignty over to the North even if he sought to secede from the Iron Throne.
The letter also spoke of news from the far East. Of Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons. It seemed the girl had amassed a small army around her and was looking to swell its ranks. Troubling to say the least.
Ned thought back to the council meeting with Robert. How he had wished for the girl to die. Robert had changed his mind on his deathbed, perhaps the Gods had heard him and let her live. Though it seemed it might have been a mistake as Robert’s fears of her might have been wellfounded.
The final words of Doran’s letter spoke of the women in his family, and the babes they all carried in their bellies. Ned’s babes. Whichever path we walk, it seems the Gods want a Stark to rule Dorne, Ned thought before chuckling to himself.
News of the Targaryen girl was troubling, however. She had her mother, her sisters and dragons for them all to ride. Not to mention she seemed to have inherited the Valyrian gift of Firebending. Ned resolved to understand the threat she might possess sooner than later.
Putting Doran’s letter down, Ned called to Harper and instructed him to summon Lara Stark. As she had been with the North’s Mistwalkers for longer than Ned had been alive, the woman would know who they should send to spy on the Targaryen. It took them the better part of the afternoon before they settled on a candidate.
“Cregan Dhalark.” Ned greeted Lord Donmar Dhalark’s second son as he walked into the solar.
“Your grace. Lara.” The dark skinned youth bowed his head solemnly as he greeted them. He was younger than Ned’s eldest sons, but Lara had told him that he had been one of her best agents.
“We have an assignment for you.” Lara started. “The Mad king’s widow and his daughter are making moves in Essos.”
“And they have dragons.” Ned added. “They are building an army and from what we can gather, aim to use it to take back the Iron throne.”
“And from there, enact revenge for their fallen family.” Cregan finished for them.
“That is what we wish for you to find out.” Lara said. “I will compile all we know of them for you to study on your way. But your task will be to join Daenerys Targaryen’s forces, make yourself known. You have skills that will be very useful to her.”
“Befriend her, if you can.” Ned added. “Though do not be too eager. You are to observe and report back to us.”
“How much would you like me to report?” Cregan asked.
“Everything.” Lara answered.
“I can leave within the week.” The young Dhalark said.
If only Cleaton were half as professional as you, Ned thought ruefully.
“I will of course inform your father of this mission and Lara will give you all the information you require. You do a great service to the North.” Ned said.
“It is what I swore to do.” Cregan answered simply before he left.
Ned spent the rest of the day writing letters and drawing up plans. In fact, that was how he spent the next few days. More letters were sent to his friends in the Vale, of which none had been answered. On the fourth day Ser Lucion Lannister was escorted into Riverrun by the Stark outriders. Robb had informed Ned of the terms he had sent the Lannister off with. More than reasonable in Ned’s opinion.
Ned had found Ser Lucion was not a handsome man when he rode into Riverrun, followed by Golden Legionaries. He had hair like damp straw, dirty brown eyes, a long nose and no chin to speak of. Not to mention the large scar that seemed to have been burned onto the man’s face with a hot iron.
Noting Ned’s surprise, Robb had told him of Tetra’s spell she cast on the man that would take effect if he were not true to them. It was something Ned decided to ask the witch about, if she ever deigned to leave her chambers, where she had dragged Samara and Beric after the latter had enjoyed Themyscira’s rejuvenating waters. And not left in the days since.
Ser Lucion came with the offer of different terms from King’s Landing. Terms that Ned spent the next few days discussing with the Lannister envoy. On the third day, however, Ned found himself woken during the hour of the Wolf by the sound of shouting echoing through the castle.
“Mm’Wha’ it is?” Elia groaned sleepily as they were roused, their wolves already fully awake and alert. Ned summoned Ice and Foesmasher to his hands after he extracted himself from his lovers embrace and donned his breeches.
“Are we under attack?” Ash was sitting up on the bed, rubbing her eyes.
“The camp doesn’t seem to be moving.” Cat looked out of the window, her hair falling in a messy curtain over her bare porcelain skin. “If we were under attack, they would be the first to know.”
Ned opened the door to their chambers, seeing Perkins standing guard, with a hand on the hilt of his sword. “What’s the commotion about?”
“I do not know, your Grace.” The Chosen Man answered.
Ned thought for a moment, then gave his orders. “Stay here and guard my wives, i’ll see what’s happening.” Then gave a short whistle and Fang followed him through the corridor towards the sound.
At this hour the only light was from the glowing runes on Ice and Foesmasher, giving off a dim blue glow as Ned stalked forward. Soon enough, Ned came across others who had been roused and come to investigate with weapons drawn.
The first was Nubia, who hadn’t even bothered to dress. The sight of the Amazon stalking naked through the castle with naught but a shield and a spear made Ned’s cock stand to attention, but he controlled his desire as it certainly wasn’t the time for pleasure.
It didn’t take long for Harper to find them, the Chosen Man in full armour. “They attempted to break him out.” He said, seemingly slightly winded from a fight. “The Kingslayer.”
Once Ned was sure the castle and everyone in it had been secured, he began to question the witnesses to find out what had happened. It seemed the Imp had sent magic users and criminals dressed in golden armour to abscond with Jaime Lannister.
They’d made use of concealed weapons that they hadn’t surrendered at Riverrun’s gate and killed Jaime’s guards. They’d used a thief to pick the locks on his door and an arcane trickster to make the guards at the gate believe it had been Lord Edmure ordering them to open the gate.
Their plan had almost succeeded. Unfortunately for them, Alysanne’s wolf Steelcoat had sensed something was off and attacked the trickster, biting through the man’s illusion and ripping his head off. Alysanne had then raised the alarm.
What Alysanne had been doing in the gatehouse in the dead of night, Ned sensed he should not ask. He was just glad that the Kingslayer had been apprehended. Ned beheaded all of the men responsible, including Lucion Lannister and their heads lined Riverrun’s walls.
—————————
“You may open her cell.” Ned told the guards as he stood in the dungeon, the only light coming from Harper’s torch as he held it aloft to Ned’s left, with Fang on his right. The heavy iron keys clanged loudly as the guard unlocked the various mechanisms that kept Riverrun’s most secure cell closed.
“This feels like a mistake.” Harper said as the guards fiddled with a particularly stiff lock.
“She’s chained in Dimeritium.” Ned tried to ease his friend’s mind. “And I’ve given her enough time to stew. I want to see what she knows.”
“Perhaps I should go in there for you and make her talk for you.” Nubia suggested, the dark skinned Amazon standing behind Ned and Harper in full armour with a sword on her hip and shield in her hand.
“No.” Ned answered her evenly. “I am more than capable of asking a lone woman questions.”
“And if she should try to enchant you?”
“Then she will be sorely disappointed.”
“When I was a boy, Old Nan used to tell me of Faeries and Nymphs with flaming hair that would steal men’s souls when they talked to them.” Harper grunted, eyes fixed on the great wooden door of the cell. “Give her half the chance, that red witch will do the same.”
“Old Nan told me those same stories.” Ned chuckled. “And they were just that: Stories.” In spite of his words Ned did share Harper’s unease at the Red Woman. But he would never say it. The woman was just flesh and blood and would die like anyone else if Ned plunged Ice into her heart.
“She’s unnatural.” Harper said as the guards heaved the heavy door open, loudly craping along the stone floor. “Knew it the moment I saw her.”
“With you two and Fang out here, what have I to fear?” Ned put on a false smile and walked into the cell.
It was dark and dank in the cell. There was no window to speak of, nor did any torches rest on the walls. Having heard tales of the followers of the Red God, Yennefer had suggested any sources of fire be moved far from their prisoner. Even when she was chained in Dimeritium, it was safer to be cautious. The only light came from Harper’s torch, sending a narrow corridor of light into the cell, illuminating the Red Woman where she sat straight up, her chained arms resting on her lap.
Her eyes were closed.
Ned gave one last look to the outside, the guards, Harper and Nubia were all watching him intently as he slowly closed the door. Ned produced a blowing ball of ice and shot it to the centre of the ceiling. The warm orange light from Harper’s torch was now replaced with a brighter, but colder pale blue.
Now fully illuminated, Ned could get a proper look at the Red Woman. She was undoubtedly one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, with a heart-shaped face, pale unblemished skin and deep copper hair that went down to her waist. She was dressed in deep red silk robes that clung to her impressively shapely body like a second skin. She had exceedingly large breasts, made even more prominent by the low cut of her dress, a slender waist, wide hips and long legs. She was sitting now, but Ned had seen her standing taller than most men when she was escorted to her cell.
The only ornament she wore red-gold choker with a giant ruby that fit tightly around her neck. It was certainly magical but they hadn’t been able to remove it so the woman had kept her choker.
For a woman who had been confined to a cell for a week, she certainly didn’t look it. She was so clean she might as well have just left a bath and her clothes had not a speck of dirt on them.
“I knew you would come,” The Red woman opened her deep red eyes and spoke in her melodic, richly accented voice. “Your Grace…” She looked directly into Ned’s eyes. He almost felt she was looking into his soul. “Have you need of me?”
“I would have you tell me your name, and what happened to Renly Baratheon.” Ned’s throat had suddenly become dry.
The woman gave him a sly smile. “Well for the first, I am the Lady Melisandre of Asshai. And for the second… I was not there, you were though. You tell me.”
An unsatisfactory response. “Do not play me for a fool.” Ned said, coldly. “A shadow with Stannis’ face stabbed Renly in the heart.”
“So you do know what happened.” She almost sang.
“And you know I was asking how it happened.” Ned fixed the woman with a stern gaze as she sat on the floor. Infuriatingly, it seemed to have little effect on her demeanour.
“So you wish for me to bind you your own shadow?”
Ned’s jaw clenched. “I wish to know how Stannis - a man who I have never known to be devout - became a man that takes up with a foreign God and murders his own brother.”
“His Gods never cared for him. One brother spurned him, another betrayed him.” Melisandre answered simply, her voice soft as silk. “I did not need to convince him, if that is what you imagine.”
“Am I truly to believe you haven’t been whispering poison in Stannis’ ear?”
“I only followed my Lord’s commands and found the man I thought was his champion.”
“Thought?” Ned raised an eyebrow.
“I have since reconsidered…” She purred. “When presented with new information…”
Ned shifted his weight and rested a hand on his hip. “And what information would that be?” He asked, incredulously.
“I had a vision.” The red woman fingered the pulsing red ruby on her throat. “My Lord showed me I had errored in my judgment, that my true champion was not Stannis at all.”
“Was it instead me, perchance?” Ned scoffed, not believing a word from her mouth.
A warm smiled spread across her face again as she looked up at Ned. “I saw you.” She said, in a tone so final that Ned almost believed her. “I. Saw. You.” The red woman repeated. “All that you were, are and will go on to do… and the women who will be your consorts.” She slowly rose to her feet with practiced grace. “I have seen the Dreamer and the Dream.” She said in a deep, hushed whisper.
Ned’s breath caught in his throat. How did she know of the vision Fenric had shown him all those years ago? Those two women had since come to him in dreams again, but only a few times. Ned had never told anyone of what he had seen in his visions. They were a private affair, meant to be kept between him and Fenric.
“How do you know of that?” Ned clenched a fist, his voice low.
“I want only to help you.” Melisandre said, as her shackles fell to the floor, strangely not making a sound when the metal hit the stone. Ned knew he should call the guards, say that the red woman had freed herself. But he could not. Some part of Ned stopped him from calling out as Melisandre padded towards him, slowly undoing her silken robes. “Come, let me show you how.”
With her words, her final stitch of clothing left her body. She stood before Ned in all her naked glory, looking up at him with her large, red eyes. Her head was at his chin level, unusually tall for a woman. Ned felt his gaze roaming her body, taking in her abundant curves. She had long legs, leading up to thick, powerful thighs and wide, childbearing hips. Melisandre’s womanhood was completely bare, her body had not a single hair below her neck.
Her stomach was flat and slightly toned, Ned guessed the woman had done physical exercises to attain her physique. Above the red woman’s belly hung two marvels for Ned to admire. Twin breasts that seemed to be carved from marble. They were large, round and heavy, but hung high on her chest, capped with small, tight pink nipples. Ned could feel his mouth watering at the sight of such a perfect bosom. Her neck was long and thin, with the pulsing red gem resting on her choker. And crowning such an exquisite body was a beautiful, mature face. The face that looked up at Ned with a warm expression.
“There is power in your blood.” Melisandre hummed as she pressed her body against his. “Let me show you.” She pulled him down into a searing kiss, her tongue lavishing his with experience and passion. Ned greedily kissed her back, his desire burning like a bonfire inside him.
Ned’s hands instantly began to grope at the red woman’s soft curves, feeling and caressing them. He heard her hum into his lips as she wrapped her arms around his head, pulling him deeper into their embrace. After a long time spent battling with their tongues, the red woman pulled away from Ned to remove his tunic and shirt, he was more than happy to help her.
Once Ned was naked from the waste up, Melisandre began to kiss her way down Ned’s muscled chest until she went to her knees, her face eye level with his groin. With a wolfish smile, she pulled his breeches down and Ned’s half-hard member swatted her in the face with a wet Phlat!
“Lord have mercy…” Melisandre took his shaft in her hands as she marbled at the pillar of flesh. Ned felt a great sense of pride swell within him at the high priestess’ admiration.
“I take it you approve?” Ned grinned down at her.
“I have lain with all the kinds of man you can name, and more.” She murmured, slowly pumping Ned’s cock. “Before I was a priestess, I was a temple prostitute. And a very popular one at that.” Ned had little trouble believing that. “I was bedded by countless men and woman and never have I ever seen a cock like this.”
Melisandre punctuated her words with warm kisses from her full lips along his shaft. Ned closed his eyes in pleasure as the red woman lavished his cock with her tongue.
Gods, I might have found a rival for Elia, Ned thought as he chuckled. She pumped his shaft with both hands as her mouth caressed him like a long lost lover. Pleasure danced through Ned’s body as Melisandre worked his cock with all her apparent skill and experience.
“No wonder the Red God is so popular in Essos, with Priestess’ like you to speak for him.” Ned laughed as he put a hand on her head, threading his fingers through her hair.
“We learned long ago that the best way to bring people into the Lord’s light is through the bedchambers.”
“Or the cell.” Ned laughed.
The red woman did not join him as she was busy stuffing Ned’s shaft down her throat, moaning as the taste of his cock assaulted her. Ned felt her tongue massage his throbbing shaft inside her mouth, rolling over it and relishing the feeling.
Ned certainly relished it. The red woman’s mouth was wet, tight and devilishly warm. He had never felt a mouth like hers. Melisandre choked and gaged, her eyes rolling back as Ned’s cock was forced deeper and deeper into her throat.
Eventually his balls were slapping her chin as her head bobbed back and forth along his cock. Ned grunted as Melisandre’s moans vibrated through his cock. One of her hands found it’s way to his balls and began cupping and massaging them. This drew even more pleasure from Ned.
She was begging for his seed.
She wanted it.
She needed it.
She was going to get it.
The pleasure and pressure built and built in Ned’s cock. Eventually after near an eternity of the red woman’s ministrations, she earned her reward. Ned thrust every inch of his cock deep down her throat and deposited load after load of his seed directly into her belly.
Ned’s vision went white, he stumbled back into the cold stone wall of the cell, still holding Melisandre’s now limp and coughing body on his cock. When Ned fully was spent, he let go of Melisandre’s hair. She flopped down onto the floor, coughing and spluttering, gasping for air as strings of his seed drooled from her lips, her eyes watery and her skin flushed.
Gone was the red woman’s grace and dignity. She seemed less powerful to Ned now. A mortal woman just like any other. And he was still hard.
“R’hllor blesses me this day…” Melisandre gasped as Ned positioned her on her back, lying on the stone floor.
“It’s my cock you’re about to have filling you.” He grunted. “It’s my blessing you’re about to receive.” Reaching down, Ned angled his cock so it’s end kissed the lips of the red woman’s cunt. They were sopping wet and eager for him.
“Yes…” The red woman murmured. “Fuck me with your massive cock. Bless me with your mighty Lightbringer!” She shivered and screamed when Ned eased his cock inside her, inch after inch. Her cunt was glorious. It was like making love to fire, but without being burned. The tight heat was maddening. As was the pleasure.
Ned started thrusting slowly, but to hear Melisandre’s moans, you would think he was hammering away at her cunt like it owed him money. She screamed his name and many other things in foreign languages Ned did not know.
Her massive, perfect breasts bounced up and down in time with Ned’s thrusts. He took one nipple between his lips and bit down on it, making the red woman scream and quiver as his thrusting brought her to her first climax of their liaison.
Ned near spent himself when he felt her divine pleasure bathing his cock. Her cunt was leaking cream as the wet slaps of Ned’s pelvis against hers echoed off the hard stone walls of the cell. Ned ravished her and ravished her, without restraint and entirely selfishly for his own pleasure and she could only howl for more. Her pale skin was flushed and shiny with sweat at her extreme arousal.
“Fuck me, your grace!” She whined, her head thrashing from side to side, her arms and legs were wrapped around Ned’s body, keeping him close, keeping him inside her. He hammered at her gates with his battering ram, beating her womanhood with his mighty club. “I am yours!” She screamed as another climax shattered her mind and put it back together again as her body shook.
“Fuck me! Use me as you see fit!” The large ruby on Melisandre’s choker was glowing brighter and brighter, pulsing in time with her own heartbeats. Ned grunted as he felt his pleasure building inside him again. His cock was throbbing like never before and with one great thrust, Ned fucked an ocean of his seed deep into the red woman’s womb, bringing her to another, screaming climax.
And yet Ned was not sated.
Still staying inside the red haired beauty, Ned roughly gripped her by the hips and spun her around to her hands and knees. Her arms had not the strength to hold her up so her face was pressed against the hard stone floor.
Ned positioned Melisandre’s knees beneath her hips so her voluptuous arse was raised up. Ned laughed and laid a hard smack on her behind, then another and another, enjoying how it wobbled pleasantly. Melisandre was moaning and whining as Ned turned her arse as red as her hair.
Eventually Ned grew tired of beating his whore, gripped her by her wide hips and slammed his cock balls-deep inside her cunt.
“Ahhh!” Melisandre screamed loudly at her rough treatment. Ned only grinned and slammed inside her again, watching her fleshy arse-cheeks quake and shudder at the force of his blows. The loud, wet claps of their flesh meeting together were heard again, louder and more fervent than before.
“Gods! AHHH! Have mercy!!” Melisandre babbled, drooling onto the floor as her thighs quivered through her seventh climax.
“Whose Gods would those be?” Ned gripped her long red hair tightly and yanked her up so his chest was pressed against her back.
“I… Ah! Fuck! I-I don’t know…” Melisandre gave something between a sob and a moan. “And I don’t care. Your cock is the only God I need!” Ned began fucking Melisandre even harder after that, drunk on his victory over her and his lust for her body.
“Oh Gods! Oh Gods! Oh Gods! Oh Gods! Oh Gods!” Melisandre screamed ad infinitum as Ned rutted her through her next half-dozen climaxes.
After what felt like a lifetime, Ned finally found his end, depositing his final load into the red woman’s tight arsehole. Ned lay on Melisandre’s prone body as they both panted out their exhaustion together until the door to the cell burst open.
“You’ve been in the cell for hours!” Harper shouted. “You don’t pay me enough to stand and listen to you fucking our prisoners!”
Ned could only laugh in response.
—————————
It was the next day when their scouts brought word of a large host approaching Riverrun from the East. Ned had feared Lord Tywin had roused from his slumber and left Harrenhall. He was certainly surprised to hear that the scouts saw only the Vale’s banners being flown.
Ned had made for his dragon immediately, with Benjen and Lyanna joining him on their flight to meet the army that was approaching them. It took less than an hour of flying before Ned saw them, a river a steel slowly snaking their way along the Tumblestone. Upon inspection, Ned saw his scouts had been correct. He saw the runes of house Royce lining the banners at the head of the column, then there was house Hunter’s arrows on another. There was Waynwood and Redfort, Templeton and Belmore and a few score other banners that he could not name. Ned allowed himself a small smile. It seemed his friends in the Vale had answered his call after all.
Ned signalled Benjen and Lyanna to continue circling above on their own dragons then urged Snowsong to touch down a few hundred feet ahead of the column. He was barely out of his saddle before he saw horses riding out from the army to meet him, the Royce banner flying high above them. It was moments before Ned recognised Bronze Yohn leading them, wearing his Black Uru breastplate with bronze runes carved into it.
“Gods Ned, it’s good to see you!” Yohn’s voice boomed as he rode up to Ned, dismounted his horse and pulled him into a crushing hug. Though the man was a good few years older than Ned, with a lined face and grey hair, he could snap most younger men in two with his great strength.
“I am glad to see you too, old friend.” Ned said after they pulled apart.
“Freya’s tits,” Yohn swore. “Robar was right... Have I strayed into the past? I swear you didn’t look that young when I last saw you.”
“A gift from some new friends.” Ned smiled, rubbing his hand along his jaw. “I shall explain all later. But first I would rather you tell me why you have come.”
“We all received your messages.” Bronze Yohn explained, his voice turning more serious. “It took us some time to debate their contents. Of course we knew you would never lie to us, but the consequences of such crimes would have been severe…”
“And what conclusion did you come to?”
“That Lysa’s son was no Arryn.” Yohn said sternly. “The lords all gathered and confronted Lysa with the truth. She tried to take her son and flee through the Moondoor when we did.”
Ned’s face fell in shock. For a mother to try and kill her own child, she must have surely been mad. “We managed to stop her.” Yohn continued. “She and her son have been confined in Runestone.”
“Jon had no other heirs.” Ned said, sadly. “Who rules the Vale now?”
“Lord Jon’s sister had a daughter who had a son: Harry Hardyng.” Yohn stated. “He was the last male descendant of Lord Jon’s father, Jasper.”
Ned closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “He was?”
“He was a ward of lady Waynwood, upon being informed of the Vale passing to him, he began travelling to the Eyrie to claim his seat…” Yohn began. “His party was attacked by mountain clansmen and killed to a man. Someone’s been giving them good steel and helping them organise.” He grumbled.
“So there is no longer any clear successor to Jon Arryn?” Ned asked, mournfully.
“Indeed.” Yohn responded. “So we called a council of every lord in the Vale, great or small and we had a vote on what we should do next. I advocated that you and Robert were the closest things to sons Jon Arryn ever had and that he would want us to declare for you.” He said proudly. “The other lords agreed.”
Ned was stunned. If the Vale had declared for him, that meant he was the lord of three of the seven kingdoms. Few Starks in all the history of their house had held power like that. “There are, of course, conditions...” Bronze Yohn added.
“We can discuss them in Riverrun.” Ned responded. “I’m sure your army would rather make camp than stand idle while we talked.”
With that, Ned climbed the rigging into Snowsong’s saddle and made back towards the castle, the knights of the Vale following from the ground. The arrival of a whole new, fresh army sent cheers all through the army camp when they finally arrived. After Ned had dismounted his dragon, he watched from Riverrun’s battlements as his army swelled to an even greater size than before.
Once all were settled, Ned met with the lords of the North, Riverlands and the Vale in the great hall where the conditions of the Vale’s allegiance were discussed. In truth the conditions were far from dear.
The Vale wanted Ned’s pledge that he would protect and defend the Vale as he would the North and Riverlands and in return, they would march to war when called upon. The lords also wanted preferential rates for the Great Canal as they were to be swearing fealty to the Starks of Winterfell. They also required that one of his sons marry a lady from one of the main houses of the Vale to solidify the alliance. The first son of that union would then rule the Vale as its lord, with the other noble families of the Vale following him and his descendants.
It was quickly agreed that Robb would marry Myranda Royce, who had ridden with her father and uncle to Riverrun. The girl was Rhaenys’ age and decidedly buxom. Robb and Rhaenys certainly seemed to appreciate the substantially curvy form of their future bride.
Some riverlords stood in protest that the Vale be given a marriage where their kingdom. Before Ned could speak, Cat was the one who pointed out the Riverlands got their marriage two decades ago and their future king would be half Tully. That seemed to quell their discontent quickly.
With that, the documents were signed, seals affixed and agreements made. Ned left Riverrun’s great hall a king of three kingdoms. Of course, the Vale certainly didn’t just take and give nothing in return. The Vale’s army that arrived at Riverrun numbered thirty-thousand, a large portion of them were demi-griffin mounted knights. Another ten-thousand remained in the Vale to defend it from counter attack by the Lannisters. As it stood, Ned ran the rough numbers in his head and realised his army outnumbered the Lannisters forces by nearly three-to-one. It was certainly a position of strength to negotiate from.
A few days after the agreements had been made, Robb and Rhaenys married Myranda Royce in a quick wedding that all the lords attended. From the looks on his son’s face, Ned gathered that the three of them had already had their weeding night, probably on the day the Vale arrived.
Feasts were had to celebrate the marriage and new alliance. It seemed to Ned that many there thought the war to be already won, with their three kingdoms bound together in blood and marriage. Men and woman ate and drank aplenty.
When Ned saw his oldest son sitting with his two wives, talking and laughing together, he found himself thinking about how glad he was not to have missed at least this wedding day.
The night was grew long, with much song and more wine. Ned had eventually retired to his bed with his wives before the bedding ceremony had begun. After their usual nightly lovemaking, all four slept soundly that night.
Until they were woken early in the morning when Harper barged into their bedchamber, howling at the top of his lungs. Ned almost felt he should bury his face deeper into Cat’s bosom, but Harper would never had roused him without a reason.
“What is it?” Ned raised from the bed, still sleepy.
“They’ve gone!” Harper repeated.
“Who?”
“The Kingslayer! The bastard took him from his cell and they flew away together on his dragon.”