Chapter Text
He should have killed Arthur Dayne.
As he dragged his bruised body across the rancid straw on the floor of his cell, feeling his way along the wall in the dark with one hand while the fingers of his other swept about searching for the jug of water the guard had thrown at him, Ned Stark cursed whatever impulse had caused him to spare the Dornish knight.
He is a man of honor. He has fought valiantly. He is doing his duty. He is defeated and his death is unnecessary. He is Ashara’s brother.
All of those thoughts and others, more difficult to sort out, had flashed through his mind when he’d shouted at Howland before sprinting up the stairs to reach his sister, “Do not kill him!”
Dayne certainly would have killed Ned had Howland not been there to lunge at him from the side just as that beautiful white greatsword of his slashed downward in what would surely have been a fatal blow. Reed was hardly an accomplished swordsman, and his stroke did Dayne little damage, but it knocked him off balance just enough to make him miss, and that had given Ned the precious seconds he needed to regain his feet and bring Ice down forcefully upon the man’s wrists, twisting it just the right way to cause Dawn to fly from his grasp.
Disarmed, the man had dropped to his knees, battered and bloody as Ned was himself, and braced himself for the blow that would end his life. Only Ned didn’t deliver that blow. Lyanna’s voice had come again to him from above, hoarsely shouting his name. His sister. And he’d looked into this man’s eyes and seen Ashara’s. Her brother.
Suddenly overwhelmed by the feeling that far too many good people had already died for whatever folly had brought them to this place, he had moved to pull Dayne’s hands behind him, and Howland, seeming as he so often did to read Ned’s mind, had taken a rope to bind them. Then Ned had cast Ice aside and seen the black sword land in the Dornish sand beside the white one, both of them stained with the blood of brave and honorable men. He’d shouted those words at Howland and gone to find his sister in the final moments of her life.
He found the water jug. The cork had come out when it struck the wall and more than half the water had been spilled upon the straw, but he greedily drank the little that remained before leaning back to rest against the wall. He didn’t know how long he’d been here. The dark was absolute so no amount of time allowed his eyes to adjust enough to see anything. He knew he slept a lot, and he dreamed fitful, confused, and often frightening dreams in which the faces of the dead --his sister, brother, father, Rhaegar Targaryen, Princess Elia and children, mad King Aerys--mixed with the faces of the living--Robert, Howland, Ashara, Ned’s wife Catelyn, the son he’d never seen, the nephew he’d hoped to keep safe, and damned Arthur Dayne. All of them seemed to want something of him, but he could never quite make sense of it. They are only dreams, he told himself angrily.
He wondered if Howland had gotten the boy away safely at least. Robert had not come to see him, and Ned could not help but think that the man who had been his brother, in some ways more of a brother than Brandon or Benjen, would tell him at least, if Lya’s child were dead.
He’d had the boy in his arms when he last spoke to Arthur Dayne. Howland had finally pulled him away from his sister’s dead body, and he’d felt both the weight of the child and of the promise he’d made as he descended the stairs and emerged once more into the sunlight. Dazed by grief and exhausted from battle he’d stood there blinking until the bound man spoke.
“That’s the rightful king you hold there, Lord Stark.”
Slowly, Ned had looked toward Arthur Dayne and shook his head. “No,” he said softly. “Robert Baratheon is the King of the Seven Kingdoms.” He’d gazed down then at the dark haired infant. “This is Jon. My son.”
“Your . . .what?” the other man had exploded. “That child is . . .”
“My son!” Ned interrupted, saying it far more loudly, as if shouting could somehow make the lie truth. “He is my natural son, conceived and born during this long campaign, and I shall take responsibility for him.”
Arthur Dayne had laughed bitterly then. “You would make the heir to the Iron Throne a bastard. He is trueborn, you know. Rhaegar wed your sister, took her as a second wife. I can testify to the truth of that, Lord Stark.”
“I do not doubt your truthfulness, Ser Arthur.”
The man had looked confused then. “But then . . .why? Why would you make him a bastard?”
“I would have him live. I promised my sister her son would be safe, and I will keep that promise.”
Arthur Dayne had shaken his head then. “Your friend Robert has no right to the throne. You know that.”
“I know that he has the throne. And I know he will be a far better king than that madman and murderer, Aerys.”
“Prince Rhaegar . . .”
“Do not speak to me of Rhaegar!” Ned had shouted. “Whatever he and Lyanna have done, I lay at his feet. She was scarcely more than a child herself, and he was the crown prince! We have all been forced to this place by his reckless actions.”
Ser Arthur’s silence after that had led Ned to believe the man harbored his own doubts about the wisdom of his Prince’s actions regarding Lyanna. After a long moment, Arthur had asked, “What do you mean to do with me?”
“Nothing.”
“You cannot possibly let me go,” he said.
“I can,” Ned said tiredly. “Leave Westeros, Ser Arthur. Take a ship and go somewhere in Essos or anyplace far away. There is nothing for you here, but you needn’t forfeit your life. Make a life elsewhere. I am tired of needless deaths.”
“You would have me flee?” the man had sounded insulted.
“You did not flee,” Ned had told him truthfully enough. “You fought until the end for your prince and his heir. I defeated you.”
Understanding began to dawn on Arthur Dayne’s face. “You will claim I am dead.”
“You will be dead to all here. If you refuse to go now, I will kill you. I have no wish to take your life, but I would rather give you a clean death here than drag you to King’s Landing for the spectacle of a public trial. Give me your word you will leave Westeros and not return, though, and I will unbind you and send you on your way.”
The man had nodded slowly, thinking. “My sword,” he’d said after a moment.
Ned had hesitated. “I will take it to Starfall,” he’d finally answered. “Lady Ashara will hear of your death from me. I owe her that.”
“My death . . .”
“It must be so,” Ned had told him. “You will be lost to her in any event, and I would not make her party to my deceit.”
Arthur Dayne had remained silent a long time, head bowed in thought. Finally he’d looked up at Ned and nodded grimly. “Unbind me, Lord Stark, and I shall go.”
Only much later, had Ned realized that the man had given his word to absolutely nothing.
Now, in his cell beneath the Red Keep, Ned wondered where Dayne was. He had not seen the man again after that conversation although he at least knew where the damned man had gone initially. He wondered if Dayne had been arrested, too, or if he was still free, attempting to proceed with his foolish plan.
Ned prayed once more that Howland and the boy were safely on their way to the Neck. He prayed that his raven had reached Riverrun, and that old Hoster Tully had heeded his instructions to remove Lady Catelyn and his son to Winterfell. They could be far better protected there, if need be.
The thought of his wife always made him feel slightly off-balance for he had known her a mere fortnight and had not seen her in close to a year. He was unsure what he was supposed to feel about her. He remembered her face well enough, and that impossibly thick mass of auburn hair tumbling down over her shoulders. She was undoubtedly beautiful, and more than once while sleeping on a cot or the cold ground during this long war, he’d felt himself harden with desire at the memory of her pale skin brushing against his and the curves of her body pressed beneath him. Yet, at other times it was the image of black hair and laughing violet eyes and the taste of Ashara’s tongue hot and urgent against his own that caused that stirring of arousal, and the memory of his body’s response to that final kiss they’d shared shamed him.
He felt ashamed and angry at himself now, as he felt his cock twitch within his torn breeches even in this dismal place as he thought about Catelyn and Ashara. Surely, he had more pressing problems at the moment. Robert’s voice came back to him then, full of teasing laughter. “A cock has a mind of its own, Ned. You’d be a hell of a lot less dour if you’d let yours think and do as it likes for a change!”
He didn’t want to think about Robert, though. He did not like to dwell on the fact that he’d been thrown into a black cell beneath the Red Keep on the order of his best friend. Instead, he thought about his brief visit to Starfall, when he’d given Ashara her brother’s sword, and she’d seen through his lies but he hadn’t seen through hers.
“That is not your child.”
Her voice was firm, almost cold when she’d said it. He’d expected tears or at least some outward expression of the grief she must be feeling at his news. Yet, she’d simply taken Dawn from him, laid it aside, and thanked him for coming to tell her himself. She always had seemed strong, though, and for all people told him that he was difficult to read, he’d ever found her true thoughts and feelings impossible to guess.
“He is mine, my lady,” he’d assured her.
“You are a dreadful liar, Eddard Stark. That’s Lyanna’s babe, isn’t it?”
At the time, he’d only thought her very perceptive. The gods knew she’d seemed able to read his mind at Harrenhal well enough. “He cannot be so and live,” he’d said softly.
“Ned,” she’d said then, using his familiar name for the first time since he arrived, “You are a good man. Too good. But if you cannot lie to me for even five minutes, how do plan to carry this lie through the boy’s entire life?”
“You . . .know me, my lady. Others will not . . .”
She laughed then, and it surprised him that she could, as he had just informed her of her brother’s death. “I wanted to know you better, as I recall.” She pouted a little. “You turned me down.”
“I would not dishonor you, my lady,” he’d replied stiffly.
“Oh, Ned,” she’d sighed, shaking her head. “Honor would force you to walk away from a woman fully willing to bed you, but it will not prevent you from bringing home a bastard for your lady wife to raise?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “I don’t know your Lady Catelyn, my lord, but the Tullys are a proud lot, by reputation. Family, Duty, Honor, and all that. I don’t think she’ll take kindly to a bastard in Winterfell.”
“I . . .I have no choice.”
“Of course, you do. Leave him with me. Let him be my bastard. He’s obviously a Stark and enough people know that I bedded your brother . . .”
The expression on his face had apparently made it plain to her that he had known nothing of the sort.
“Oh, Ned!” she’d exclaimed, seeming genuinely distressed. “I thought you knew! It was after we . . .well, after we didn’t do anything at all, really. You’d made it clear you didn’t want me.”
“Not wanting you had nothing to do with it,” he’d told her, and she’d looked sad. “I would not have you dishonor yourself falsely by claiming a bastard child now, Ashara. And Jon is too young to have been conceived at Harrenhal in any event.”
“Jon?”
“That is what I have named him.”
She had looked thoughtfully at the babe. “I was in King’s Landing when Brandon arrived. Who’s to say he did not come to me again before he called for Rhaegar to come out and die?”
Ned had shaken his head stubbornly. “The boy must stay with me. I promised Lyanna I would keep him safe.”
“And your bloody Robert would kill him!” Ashara had spat at him angrily. “Just like he killed Elia and her poor babes!”
“Tywin Lannister ordered those deaths, not Robert.”
“Did our good King Robert condemn them? Did he put the murderers to the sword?” she had asked mockingly.
“You know he didn’t,” Ned had admitted.
“And that’s why you do what you do now,” she’d said. “You make your sister’s trueborn babe a bastard, you dishonor your sweet little Tully bride, and you condemn yourself to a cold marriage bed and a life of lies! All because of Robert!”
“Because of Rhaegar!” Ned had insisted. “He did this. If he had left Lyanna alone--if he had not seduced her, none of us would be here now!”
“Yet it is Robert you fear now, Ned, where Lyanna and Rhaegar’s child is concerned.”
“Yes, damn it, it is!” he’d admitted. “Gods help us all, I cannot trust him not to harm the babe if he ever learns the truth.”
He’d hated the way his voice had broken. He’d hated that he felt he was somehow betraying Robert with this admission. As angry as he still was at Robert, he still felt the need to be loyal to him, and that had made him angry at himself.
Then Ashara’s arms had been around him, and she’d been kissing his neck. He’d put his arms around her and bent his face toward hers, their lips finding each other’s. The kiss seemed to go on forever until she finally pulled back just enough to whisper against his beard, “I still want you, Eddard Stark.” She’d moved one hand to the front of his breeches to press it against his rapidly hardening cock. “I see you still want me as well,” she’d said with a wicked smile.
At that, he’d pushed her away from him and walked to the other side of the room before turning around. “We must stop this, my lady,” he’d said, still panting for breath. “I am a married man. My lady wife has borne me a son and she awaits my return. I will not do this.”
“Your lady wife will forever believe you have done precisely this, my lord,” she’d told him. “If you are determined to accept the sentence, you might as well commit the crime.” She’d smiled at him. “There are no victims here, Ned. I assure you I am a willing participant.”
“I am not.” He’d turned his back on her as looking at those eyes had made it hard to breathe.
She’d been silent a long time after that. “Well then, Lord Stark, please stay the night at least. You, and your man, and your bastard. I will not disturb you. I give you my word. But surely, you could use a night’s rest in a real bed before you ride for Winterfell.”
He’d turned back to see those violet eyes full of tears, and he’d wondered if grief for her brother had made her reach for him like that. He’d felt guilty for not telling her that Arthur lived, but he’d believed Arthur Dayne well away at that point. He and Howland had tarried another two days at the Tower of Joy dealing with their dead before they’d even started for Starfall.
In truth, Ned was anxious to be away, to put all of this as far behind him as he could, but he felt the least he could do for her now was to accept her hospitality. “That is a most gracious offer, my lady,” he said formally. “We would be honored to accept.”
Despite his troubled mind, he had fallen quickly into a deep sleep that night for he was sorely exhausted. However, he’d found himself awakened by someone shaking him, and a soft voice speaking his name urgently. “Ned, Ned, you must get up.”
His eyes had opened to see Ashara sitting on the bed, her hands on his shoulders, and sat up immediately, pushing her away. “My lady, you should not be here!”
She’d stood up shaking her head, and Ned had realized there were tears running down her face. “I am not here to seduce you, Ned. I . . .I cannot do this. I cannot. You have to go!”
“What . . .what are you talking about, my lady?” His sleep addled brain struggled to make sense of her words as his eyes began to focus in the dim starlight from the windows.
“Arthur . .” she said. “Arthur was here.”
“What?” He leapt from the bed at that and went to grab her arms, mindless that he wore naught but his smallclothes. “When? Where is he now?”
She shook her head and looked down. “Forgive me,” she whispered. “I thought . . .” She looked up at him then and met his eyes directly. “He was here for three days before you arrived. He told me of Rhaegar’s son. He has sent letters proclaiming the child the trueborn heir to the Iron Throne.”
Ned’s heart dropped, and he felt cold all over. “To whom?”
“To far too many people for your lie to ever succeed now, my lord.” She swallowed. “He rode out when we knew you were on your way, but he didn’t go far. He feared you would never agree to fight Robert Baratheon, and so he told me to get the babe from you if I could. If I could not, I was to keep you here long enough for him to prepare an ambush on the road where he might steal the babe away from you.”
“Gods, Ashara! How could you do such a thing?”
“The babe is the rightful king,” she’d insisted. “And . . .he promised you would not be hurt.”
“It was all a lie,” he said. “Everything you said and did today was a lie.”
“No!” she’d insisted. “I did want you. I do. I just thought . . .”
“I must go.” He’d moved away from her and begun putting on his breeches. “Where does your brother intend to lie in wait?”
She’d hesitated only a second. “On the main road between here and High Hermitage. He assumed you would take that way.”
“I would have.” His mind had raced as he reached for his shirt and then his doublet. “Ashara, your damned brother has put far more people in danger than only the babe and myself.”
She looked at him questioningly.
“Robert holds the Iron Throne!” he said angrily. “Whatever your fool brother intends, he has no real power to challenge him now. Do you think Robert will sit back and do nothing if he thinks I have found a trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and kept if from him?”
“I . . .Arthur did not send a letter to King’s Landing.”
“Did he send letters to the Tyrells? The Redwynes? Almost all of the Targaryen loyalists have sworn fealty to Robert now, Ashara! And they certainly will not all jump at the chance to go back on those vows and a chance at good treatment by the new king in order to rally to a babe with no army! Robert will hear it from them!”
She’d looked pale. “But he would not hurt you, Ned,” she’d said hesitantly.
“I have a son, Ashara!” he’d shouted. “Do you think no one in King’s Landing will think of using my wife or my son to gain my cooperation? To force me to turn over Lyanna’s boy? King’s Landing is a damned sight closer to Riverrun than I am now!” He’d been frantic.
“I . . I didn’t . . .”
Fully dressed now, including his boots, he’d walked back to her and grabbed her arms once more. “If I write a letter, will you send it to Riverrun?”
She’d nodded.
“I have no reason to trust you,” he’d said, “But I fear I have no choice, either. I beg you, Ashara. Please send my letter. I would keep my wife and child safe if I could.”
“I’ll send it,” she’d told him. “I promise.” Her face had looked pale and frightened in the dark, but he’d seen no hint of deception. Of course, he’d not realized her lies earlier, either.
He’d awakened Howland Reed, and quickly they’d prepared to ride away under cover of night. The babe’s wet nurse thankfully agreed to ride with them in spite of the obviously suspicious nature of their departure. Ashara had met them outside just as they were mounting up, bringing along several packs of food.
“Be safe,” she’d whispered to Ned, standing close to him beside his horse. “I hope you can forgive me for what I have done. And I hope Arthur can forgive me for what I do now.”
“Your brother believes he is right,” Ned had told her. “And he acts accordingly. I am doing the same. As are you.” He had smiled sadly at her. “We may be at odds in this, my lady, but I hold no malice toward you. I am certain your brother will feel the same.”
She’d actually allowed a choked sob to escape then. “I envy your lady wife, Eddard Stark,” she’d told him, and then she’d grabbed and kissed him fiercely. He hadn’t responded as he had earlier that day, but he hadn’t pushed her away either, and when she’d finally pulled away from him, he’d felt a tiny stab of regret at the loss of her lips against his. Then he’d swung up onto his horse and ridden away.
They had stayed far from the road or even anything resembling a path until they were well out of Dorne and managed to avoid whatever trap Arthur Dayne had laid. They’d chosen to keep well away from main roads even as they approached lands belonging to the Reach, however, as they knew not what word had been sent about them or who might be looking for them. Over the long days and nights, Ned had prayed fervently that Ashara’s raven had reached Riverrun safely, and that his wife and son were even now on their way to Winterfell.
They’d been camped just south of Bitterbridge when Howland had turned to him and asked, “Do you still intend to take the child to Winterfell?”
“Where else can I take him?”
“His presence will put everyone there in greater danger, my lord.”
“I know that! I cannot just abandon him, Howland!”
“Of course, not.” The little crannogman had looked at him for a long moment. “I could take him to Greywater Watch, my lord. I swear to you none could find him there.”
Ned had looked down at the babe who’d rested at that moment in his arms. He’d taken to holding his nephew frequently whenever the babe did not require the wetnurse’s attentions, and had been rather surprised at how fiercely attached he’d become to him. At first, it had been merely the child’s resemblance to Lyanna which had moved him, but now he found himself enchanted by the babe himself.
“I would have him know his family, Howland,” he said quietly.
“As would I, if that possibility lies before him, my lord. But, even more, I would have him live safely.”
Ned had nodded, putting off such thoughts.
They had decided to keep well west of King’s Landing, but as they drew closer to the capital, Howland, who had a way of disappearing into any crowd when he chose, began venturing into little villages to see what news he could glean. He’d returned after one such foray wearing a very sober expression.
“There is a price on your head, my lord,” he’d said without preamble.
“What?”
“King Robert Baratheon has offered a reward for the capture of yourself or Ser Arthur Dayne. He’s also offered a reward for any information about the bastard infant Ser Dayne would put on his throne.”
Ned had swallowed hard, feeling chilled by the fact that his best friend, his comrade in arms, the man he often considered his closest brother, and actually put a price on his head. “What am I worth?” he asked dully.
“Enough to tempt any man. Far more if you’re alive, my lord. It would appear the king would prefer not to have you killed.”
“You are not mentioned by anyone?” Ned had asked his friend.
“It would seem no one knows of me,” the crannogman had said with a small smile. “At least, no one knows I am with you.”
Ned had sighed heavily. “Take the babe to Greywater Watch. Keep Jon safe for me, Howland. Keep him safe for Lya.”
Howland had nodded. “I will, my lord. You may be assured of it.”
After a few moments of silence, Reed had asked, “And what will you do, my lord?”
Ned had looked him in the eyes. “I will go to King’s Landing. I will go and see Robert.”
He’d done exactly as he said in terms of going to King’s Landing, but he hadn’t gotten near Robert. He’d identified himself at the city gate and been taken immediately by the City Guard. He hadn’t resisted, but they’d beaten him badly anyway. Then they’d brought him here and tossed him in this hole. And he honestly didn’t know how long he’d been here. He only hoped that by doing this, he’d given Howland time to get Jon safely away and Hoster Tully time to get Catelyn and his son to the North. The passage of time was difficult for him to mark here.
He barely moved when the door opened until a lantern was held into the cell. The light was so strong after the unrelenting darkness that it burned his eyes painfully and he closed them tightly.
“Gods, man! You look half dead! Why did you have to fight them, Ned?” The booming voice was unmistakably Robert’s although Ned was still too blind to see him.
“I didn’t fight them, Robert,” he said softly. “Had I fought, I might have sustained fewer injuries, and they certainly would have sustained some of their own.”
“I was told you resisted arrest,” Robert said, slightly hesitantly.
“You were lied to.”
“You’d know plenty about that, wouldn’t you?” Robert accused then as he stepped into the little cell, bringing the lantern with him and hanging it on a hook on the wall. As he stepped away from it, Ned could see him more clearly as he no longer had to stare directly at the light. He looked the same as Ned remembered, tall and powerfully muscled with a thick head of black hair. The deep blue of his eyes was not discernible to Ned’s vision at the moment, but he did see more lines around those eyes than he remembered. And Robert’s face was set in a hard frown rather than the exuberant grin he normally wore. “Damn you, Ned! What were you thinking, plotting with Arthur Dayne?”
“Plotting?” Ned asked incredulously from his position on the floor. “I fought him nearly to the death in order to free Lyanna, Robert. I hardly call that plotting.”
“The babe, Ned! You and Dayne want to put Rhaegar’s bastard on my throne!”
Ned sighed. “If you truly believe that, then I have never known you at all.”
Robert crossed the tiny cell in two strides and jerked Ned up by the front of his shirt. “It is I who don’t know you!” he shouted at him. “What am I to think of all this? What have you done, Ned?”
Ned met his eyes. “Let go of my shirt, and I will tell you it all, Robert.”
When Robert released him, he sagged back against the wall but remained on his feet. He told him of finding Lyanna at the Tower of Joy, the battle with the Kingsguard, and the death of his men. He did not mention Howland, however.
“Why did you let Dayne live, Ned? Why?”
“I told him to leave the Seven Kingdoms, Robert. I was tired of the killing. He’d fought valiantly, enemy or no, and . . .” Ned shook his head. “I was wrong,” he said. “I should have killed him.”
Robert stared at him. “But the babe, Ned. You did take Rhaegar’s bastard, did you not?”
“I took my bastard,” Ned said, continuing to look his friend in the eye. “I took my bastard and rode with him for Winterfell where I could see him raised decently enough even with his mother dead.”
“You lie!” Robert accused him, shaking him so that his sore bones rattled. “You’re the last man in the Seven Kingdoms I’d believe fathered a bastard. Hell, I barely believe you and your frozen cock fathered a babe on that Tully bride of yours! This babe is the seed of that Targaryen rapist! You know it is!”
Ned took several breaths to calm himself. “I did not intend anyone else to know it. Ever. Not even the boy, himself.” He forced himself to say the next words. “Lyanna loved her babe, Robert. She made me promise to protect him. She knew what happened to Elia Martell’s children.”
“That was Lord Tywin’s doing,” Robert protested.
“But it pleased you. You cannot deny that. I heard you call them dragonspawn.”
Robert shook his head. “I would not hurt Lyanna’s child. Gods, Ned! I loved her!”
“You did,” Ned acknowledged. “But tell me you could either welcome or ignore a child of Rhaegar Targaryen’s, Robert. Tell me that.”
“I won’t kill it!” he said. “Where is it?”
“Let me claim the boy as my bastard,” Ned implored him. “It is my word against Arthur Dayne’s. There is no proof that . . .”
Robert shook his head. “No. Dayne’s tale has spread too far. No one will believe you, Ned.” He looked at Ned somewhat ruefully. “Especially after I’ve had you locked up here.”
“A bastard, whether it be mine or Lyanna’s, is no threat to your throne, Robert,” Ned said then, latching on to the fact that Robert had repeatedly called Jon a bastard since coming to the cell.
“Don’t bother telling me that, Ned. You had to suffer through history lessons in the Eyrie same as I did. I recall the Blackfyre Rebellion well enough.”
“Those fights were among the king’s own bastards, Robert, not with bastards of other lines. Perhaps you should worry more about the babes you insist upon spawning about the kingdoms.”
“Hold your tongue, Ned. Need I remind you that you are speaking to your King?”
“I am well aware of that, Your Grace,” Ned replied. “I fought to help you gain this throne. I would have you keep it.”
“Would you?” Robert looked at him. “Where is the bastard, Ned?”
“I do not know.” It was true enough. He hoped that Jon was still with Howland Reed, rapidly approaching the safety of Greywater Watch, but he couldn’t know that for sure. Even if he did, he could no more find Greywater Watch than Robert could--not without Howland to guide him.
“Do not lie to me, Ned,” Robert growled dangerously.
“I do not lie. When I heard you had put a price on my head, I gave the babe to a man I trust and bid him keep him safe from Arthur Dayne who wants to use him as some sort of political rallying point.” And to keep him safe from you. “Do not ask me for his name, Your Grace. I will not give it.”
“You’d throw titles at me, but refuse to obey me? Am I your king or not, Ned?”
“You are my king, Your Grace,” Ned said, dropping painfully to his knee in front of his lifelong friend. “I will take any vow of fealty you ask of me. I will fight any foe you command me to fight. I will hold the North in your name and dispense your justice. But I will not give you my sister’s child.”
Robert stared at him a moment and then turned away. “He raped her, Ned. How many times do you suppose he raped her?” he said softly.
It wasn’t rape. Whatever it was, it wasn’t rape. But he wasn’t about to tell Robert that. “I don’t like to think on it,” he said instead. “But whatever else, Robert, she did love this babe. And I promised her I would raise him.”
“Dayne claims the little whelp is trueborn,” Robert said through clenched teeth. “That her rapist had the nerve to actually wed her, and him with a wife and two children already. What do you know of that?”
“Only that Ser Arthur said it,” Ned answered truthfully enough. Lyanna had not specifically said it, although she had called her son Rhaegar’s heir, so he did not doubt the veracity of the Dornishman’s word. “Robert, can you honestly see Lyanna wedding a man she hated?” Ned chose his words carefully and told himself there was no lie in them.
“No,” Robert said softly. “Not my Wolf Maid. He might have dragged her to a sept, but she never would have said the words. She’d have spit in his face.” He seemed to take reassurance from the thought. “He is a bastard then. Of course, Doran Martell doesn’t appear to think so.”
“Doran Martell?” Ned said, shocked. “I’d expect Elia’s brother would be the last man who would welcome a child of Lyanna’s as a legitimate heir.”
Robert laughed bitterly. “Rhaegar treated Elia shamefully, but he didn’t kill her or her children. Right or wrong, Doran lays that crime at my feet.”
When Ned remained silent, Robert said softly, “And it would appear he is not the only one. In any event, Doran Martell has a daughter who is five or six years old. Not too old to be a queen one day for this new little dragonspawn should the brat Rhaegar forced on Lyanna be declared legitimate.”
Ned willed himself not to react at Robert’s use of the word dragonspawn in referring to his nephew. “You have more than enough strength to stand against Dorne should it come to that,” he told Robert.
“I do. But as this child grows, Ned, if Dayne continues to spin his tale, who can say which lords might be swayed. How do I secure my throne to my heirs while this child is out there as a . . .what did you call it? . . .political rallying point?”
“You might start by wedding and producing some heirs of your own, Your Grace. Legitimate ones, I mean.”
“Do you swear to me Arthur Dayne does not have Rhaegar’s bastard?”
“I swear it, Robert, on my honor as a Stark.”
Robert nodded. “I will need some other form of security, though. I will send to Riverrun and have your son brought here.”
“My son is not even close to being weaned,” Ned protested.
“Your wife is not the only woman in the Seven Kingdoms with teats, although I do recall Brandon saying hers were quite lovely. But if you object to the boy being fed by a wetnurse, I can have your wife brought here as well.”
“My family belongs with me in Winterfell, Robert.”
“You aren’t going to Winterfell yet, Ned.”
Ned tensed at the ominous tone in Robert’s voice.
“You swore you would fight any foe I send you against. I would have you find and kill Arthur Dayne.”
Ned swallowed. “You would hold my wife and child as hostages, Robert? You would truly do that?”
“I’ll take just the boy, if you’d prefer. Or the other boy. Give me the bastard, and I won’t even make you go after Dayne. The man can’t hurt me if I have the bastard.”
“No,” Ned said. “My son and nephew will not be hostages, Robert. Nor will my wife.”
“Gods, man! You have to give me something here!” Robert shouted at him.
“You have me, Your Grace,” Ned said quietly.
“I do! And I’ll keep you in this hole, damn you, as long as you defy me!” He turned to walk from the cell, but turned at the door and looked back. “And I may not know where you’ve hidden Rhaegar’s little bastard, but I know the way to Riverrun, Ned. I will have your son brought here. You cannot stop me from doing that!”
He turned away again and strode out before Ned could reply, leaving a guard to come in and retrieve the lantern. When the door closed behind the guard, leaving Ned ensconced in total darkness once more, he sank down onto the floor shaking, and prayed even more fervently that his Lady Catelyn and their babe were well away from Riverrun.
Gods forgive me, he thought. I should have killed Arthur Dayne.