Chapter Text
282AC:
“My son! My boy! You’ve brought him back to me Ned!” Robert beamed with joy as he descended from the iron throne. Ned watched as the child, his nephew who had been silent almost the entire journey back from Dorne, stepped forwards and let go of his hand. He looked wearily at the father he’d never known. Robert had never visited Winterfell even when Lyanna and Ned had both sent ravens to tell him of his bastard son’s birth, and his father’s demands for Robert to wed his daughter to make things right. And the boy had spent the entirety of the rebellion in that withered tower in Dorne, a prisoner of Prince Rhaegar.
Robert knelt before his son, and placed a large hand upon his shoulder.
“Ah he looks like me Ned! Not an ounce of Stark in him!” Ned could not bring himself to respond. The bitter memory of their heated words before he left Kingslanding still stung harsher than any sword. The butchered Targaryen children… their bodies laid before the iron throne by Tywin Lannister and the creatures at his command. And all Robert had done was proclaim that they were dragonspawn. They had been fighting a rebellion to defend themselves and their houses from the Mad King, a righteous cause, a heroic one. And Robert had lead them valiantly. He even looked the part of the hero. Tall and strong as an ox, even bigger when he wore his armour and antlered helmet. He had even pardoned his enemies, three lords of the Stormlands who fought against him first, and then beside him, and Ser Barristan of the Kingsguard, and Varys and Pycelle both. But that day, when he sat in judgement and excused the butchery of the Princess of Dorne and her children he was a hero no longer.
Ned looked down at his nephew, and then the babe in his own arms. ‘Promise me Ned.’ Lyanna’s words echoed in his mind. The image of his sister on her deathbed haunted him. He had to protect her sons. Both of them.
“Doesn’t he look like me? Ha! My boy!” Robert hoisted the child into his arms and proudly displayed him to the court. “Rhaegar may have taken Lyanna from me, but he couldn’t take my son!” She was never yours, Ned thought to himself but the words caught in his throat. Ned looked around the throne room. Lord Tywin had brought his daughter to court. A beautiful woman no one could deny, but Ned could not stomach the sight of Lannisters any longer. The Kingslayer stood beside the iron throne with Ser Barristan and Ser Mandon Moore. Jon Arryn and the Lords of the Vale filled one side of the hall and the lords of the Crownlands and Stormlands filled the other. He spied the Kings brothers, Lord Stannis stood as rigid as iron. A year Ned’s younger but already looked at least five years elder. The siege had not been kind to him. But Renly, the boy of seven or eight, ran to his Kingly brother to gaze upon his nephew. The boys could have been brothers.
“You will do well at court. He’ll grow into a fine lad! Aye! Strong and handsome.” Robert laughed. Ned saw Kayne’s face start to soften.
“Yes your grace. He’ll capture the heart of many maidens I’m certain.” Praised Lord Royce.
“He’ll be as strong as his father! And every bit as gallant!” The Lord of Tarth echoed. Praises were sung, and compliments given in their hundreds. Everyone was eager to please the new King. And then came the dreaded question Ned had been fearing.
“Is he to be your heir?” It was Stannis Baratheon who asked it, and ground his teeth as he did. Perhaps he did not like the notion of being displaced by a bastard child. Ned did not know the man well, but from what Robert had told him Stannis didn’t seem the sort to covet power.
“Is he to be my heir?! He is my son is he not?!” The King bellowed, and the throne room seemed to shake with his fury.
“A bastard your grace.” Jon Arryn said softly. Robert didn’t like that. Not one bit.
“Out! All of you out! Not you Ned you stay!” There was a clammer of boots against stone as the throne room cleared. Ned suddenly became very aware of how empty the room felt with the two men and two bastard boys being the only occupants. Even the skulls of the Targaryens dragons had gone. It wouldn’t have surprised him if Robert had driven his hammer through them all.
“Do you intend to legitimise him?” He found himself asking.
“If Lyanna had lived… it would have been different. She would be my Queen and the boy would be my heir without doubt. But Jon… damn him the honourable old fool… from the moment we heard of your sisters passing he’s been putting the notion in my mind to marry.” That Ned did not like.
“Who does he suggest?”
“Cersei Lannister.” That Ned liked even less.
“Lannister?! Robert you cannot- her brother tainted his cloak and killed the King he was sworn to serve. And her father-“ he began.
“I will not hear it again Ned!” Robert put down his son and the boy slinked away. “Cersei is pretty, young and a maiden. And the Lannisters are rich, and worth binding to the realm no?”
“Are those your words or Tywins?”
“Jon’s! Enough of this talk of marriage! Bring your bastard closer I want to see him!” Ned could not disobey. He stepped closer and allowed his old friend to see the sleeping boy in his arms.
“He has your look. Solemn grey eyes and a long face. Ha! He’ll be a brooder like you are! Perhaps my boy will have to teach yours how to have some damned fun!” The King laughed again, his rage melting away. But Ned’s did not flee so easily.
“If you intend to marry Cersei and have trueborn children by her I will take Kayne North. Winterfell is his home, it’s where he was born. There’s little place for a bastard at court, especially one with a claim to the throne. I would not trust his care amongst Lannisters.” He said plainly.
“Ah fuck you Ned. Do you think I would let harm befall him? My own blood?!”
“Some things are beyond even a Kings control.” He held his head high, his grey eyes meeting Robert’s blue, and finally his friend relented.
“No Ned.” Robert had never spoken so sternly to him before. If Ned were a lesser man he would be afraid as the King towered over him and his large hands clenched into fists. But he knew his friend would never hit him, no matter what.
“What life will the boy have here?” He tried to plea one more time.
“Any life he so chooses. When he comes of age if he wants to go North and brood with you Stark, that is what he can do. But he is my son, and need I remind you that I am your King. You helped put this damned crown upon my head, now you will obey it!”
And so it was. Ned stayed in Kingslanding another fortnight to see his friend wed Cersei Lannister, and then he could stomach the south no more. He left for Winterfell at daybreak the following morning. He was the Lord of Winterfell now. He had a Kingdom to protect, a wife he scarcely knew who had birthed him a son. All the way North the guilt grew within him like a parasite. Promise me Ned, Lyanna had pleaded. And he had promised.
298AC:
Anxiousness and guilt filled Ned Stark as the royal party rode in through the gates of Winterfell. Men at arms in Baratheon garb came first, holding spears and halberds with long flowing cloaks made of cloth of gold each with a crowned stag embroidered upon it. Then came Lannister men at arms as well, their own cloaks crimson with golden lions upon them. And on their shields golden lions, and on their flags golden lions. He swore the golden lion of Lannister would be his waking nightmare. Then rode in the King and his bastard side by side, and the guilt flooded Ned tenfold stronger than before.
Ned frowned at the sight of his old friend. Robert Baratheon had always been tall, standing well over six and a half feet he towered over lesser men. And when he donned his helmet adorned with antlers it added nearly a further foot to his height and he looked like a God. But now he was as wide as he was tall, and where a handsome clean shaven face once was a thick, unruly beard claimed its place. The King's cheeks were red from drink and he had to be helped down from his horse by two young blonde squires, Lannisters both no doubt.
While the sight of the King had been a disappointment, his son was not. Ned watched his nephew ride in gallantly behind his father on a large black stallion that kicked at the cobbled ground. The boy had the traditional Baratheon looks, he was tall, as tall as his father already at six and ten namedays old, and still growing by the looks of him. His hair was mess of thick coal black locks that trailed down to his shoulders and a shadow of a beard lined his strong jaw. Kayne Snow looked every inch a warrior, wide arms like tree trunks and a broad chest. He was undoubtedly strong. He wore a sword at his hip, a deep green tunic and a black cloak with a golden stag embroidered upon it. The cloak was clasped to his shoulder by a stag broach which too was gold. Upon his face he had two scars from battle, one beneath his left eye and one across his right cheek. Scars from Balon Greyjoy’s rebellion, when the boy had squired for his uncle Stannis the Lord of Dragonstone, and had jumped to fight Victarion Greyjoy. Some named that foolishness, some named it bravery. But when Ned had heard of that he did not expect anything else from the son of Robert Baratheon and Lyanna Stark. The wolf’s blood and Baratheon tendency for wroth mixed well in the boy.
Behind him rode the Prince. At three and ten namedays old Prince Joffrey was tall, but that was all he shared with his half brother. Where Kayne was broad Joffrey slender, where Kayne was dark of hair Joffrey was golden haired, where Kayne’s eyes were the deep blue of his fathers, Joffrey’s were emerald like his mother Queen Cersei. Behind the Prince came the rest, three knights in the white armour and white cloak of the Kingsguard, and with them Ser Jaime Lannister the Kingslayer who wore his own armour of gelded gold with the white cloak. And then came more. Sandor Clegane who men called the Hound, and a great wheelhouse pulled by a dozen horses.
The Queen emerged from that, Cersei Lannister was a woman of great beauty no one could deny. But Ned had never liked the woman, nor any of her kin. Behind her came the Princess Myrcella, scarcely two years younger than the Prince Joffrey, and the girl shared her mothers beauty. She looked around at Winterfell with a wide eyed curiosity that Ned admired. And finally stepped out the youngest of the three royal children. The Prince Tommen. The boy was at an age with Bran, but twice as big. He was plump and shy, clinging behind his mothers skirts where Bran would have been running off to explore already.
The last few to ride in had a banner amongst it Ned did not expect, one black with a golden Kraken. Balon Greyjoys daughter he knew at once. Asha Greyjoy, who had been a ward of Stannis Baratheon. He wondered what compelled Stannis to send her North. Perhaps he agreed to allow her to see her brother.
When they approached Ned fell to one knee, and everyone else followed suit. He looked up enough to see one of Robert’s gloved fat hands beckon him to stand. And he was met with a stern face.
“You’ve got fat.” Robert declared. Ned looked his friend up and down and raised an eyebrow. To any other King that action would’ve meant his head, but his friend only roared with booming laughter. He had not heard the like since the celebration after the submission of Pyke.
“HAHA! Five years! Gods why haven’t I seen you in five years?!” The King roared with laughter, making his large stomach jiggle beneath his tunic.
“I’ve been guarding the North for you, your grace.” He answered as they embraced. Robert’s arms nearly crushed him in a hug before pulling away and clapping him on the shoulder.
“Guarding the North. Ha! The fields of snow aren’t going anywhere.” Before Ned could reply again, the King waved forward his son. Ned smiled up at Kayne, for his nephew was taller than he.
“Lord Stark, it is an honour to see you again.” The boy smiled down at him warmly. When they had met last he had the voice of a boy, crackly and high pitched with the excitement of his first battle, but now he had the deep and hardened voice of a man grown. A warrior's voice. A commander's voice.
“And you. You’re a man grown I see. Strong like your father.” He returned the smile.
“And a man bedded! HAHA!” The King roared again and clapped his son on the back. “You should hear the Greyjoy girl scream Ned! You’d think she was being beaten!” He watched as his nephew's face turned a slight red with embarrassment, yet a proud smile persisted upon his face. He truly was Robert’s boy if he’d taken Asha Greyjoy into his bed already.
The woman herself stepped forwards, dressed in black breeches and tunic and riding boots. She had a sword at one hip and an axe at another. That was strange. Even on the Iron Islands it was rare for a woman to carry steel, especially a highborn girl. She was not a traditional beauty, no delicate lady like the ones of the south, but a warrior woman that was plain to see.
“Not quite beaten, though he does leave me bruised. Not that I ever complain.” She flashed a grin and boldly gave Kayne’s rear a slap. Ned heard Catelyn scoff and had no doubt she wanted rid of the Ironborn lady already.
“And he’s good with his sword too! And hammer, and Morningstar, whatever you set in his hand he can wield it as good as any man. Better even! A tourney at Highgarden half a year past and he beat the Kingslayer in the melee! Only lost to Barristan in the jousts!” Robert seemingly ignored Asha’s comment on his son.
“You shall make a fine warrior then. I would like to see your skill for myself.” He had no doubt Robb and Jon, gods even Theon and Arya, would be keen to test Kayne in the sparring yard. And he had every intention of seeing it.
“If you can muster a Northman brave enough to face me. In Kingslanding squires have stopped sparring with me, and half the knights feign excuses.” The boy laughed easily like his father.
“You will find us Northmen are not so easily frightened, you would do well to remember that my nephew.” Ned did not like the slight arrogance in the boys tone, but he expected nothing less. Robert had always been proud to a fault, and Brandon had too. Even Lyanna had her moments. The wolf’s blood their father called it, perhaps Kayne had inherited a drop of it.
“Aye. I am one of you after all.” Ned had to nod along. Was he? Kayne bore the name Snow for his mother was of the North and he was born in Winterfell. But he had been raised in the south, in Dorne of all places. Ned had argued against it.
When he rode back to Kingslanding from the Tower of Joy those long fourteen years ago, he had brought Kayne before his father. He had begged the King to let him take the boy north, for the southern court was no place for a bastard and he feared any child born to Robert and Cersei would come to see Kayne as a rival. The realm did not need another Blackfyre rebellion from a new dynasty. But Robert wouldn’t hear of it, insisting that he kept Kayne in Kingslanding as he was all of Lyanna that he had left. And so Ned had returned to Winterfell with the other bastard. Jon Snow.
And then he had heard that when Kayne was no older than five, he had been sent away to foster with the Martells of Dorne. He had cursed Robert then, if he had to send Kayne anywhere why not to Winterfell? But that was in the past now, and he could not change it, no more than he could bring back those he had lost in years past.
“Aye. Allow me to introduce my wife Lady Catelyn.” He watched as Kayne bent down to kiss her hand, and Catelyn’s gaze refused to meet his own. “My son Robb, my daughters Sansa and Arya, that’s Bran and the little one is Rickon.” Each of his children greeted their cousin in turn. He watched as Kayne shook hands with Robb, kissed Sansa’s hand, ruffled Arya and Bran’s hair and laughed when he attempted the same with Rickon but the young boy slapped his hands away.
“It's an honour to meet you all at last. But where is the bastard? I had hoped to meet a fellow Snow.” Kayne’s eyes darted around the crowds and Ned turned to Jon who was stood behind them with Theon and the Cassel’s. He waved him forwards and forwards Jon stepped.
“Your grace.” He spoke solemnly yet respectfully, bowing his head to Robert who only laughed.
“Gods he looks like you Ned. Our bastards look even more like us than our true born sons ha!” The King laughed once again, and Ned watched Jon and Kayne look one another up and down, each boy getting the measure of the other.
“Aye your grace.” Ned simply agreed. It was always best to just agree with Robert anyway. The man was always hotheaded and stubborn.
“Now, take me to your crypts. I wish to pay my respects.” His voice became stern again, the voice of the King.
“My love we have been riding for-“ The Queen finally spoke up, looking toward her husband but without a smile and she did not look upon Kayne.
“Quiet woman. The crypts Ned, now.”
“Jon, Robb, take Kayne to his chambers and see to it that our guests are settled in.” He turned to his sons and they both nodded.
“Thank you Uncle Ned.” Kayne gave another dutiful nod of his head before following Robb and Jon into the castle, Asha Greyjoy following him walking lazily and strutting about as if she owned the very ground she walked upon. Something she had in common with Theon, still at least Theon knew his place when it was important. Ned watched the four of them disappear into the castle as servants came towards to bring the royal family’s possessions inside as well, and then turned to follow the King down to the crypts of Winterfell.
Jory Cassel handed him a torch as the two old friends entered alone. He patted the stone direwolf’s heads as they sat guarding the entrance. They walked down into the deep dark place. The cold faces of the Kings of Winter stared down upon them. Brandon the Builder, and a dozen more Brandon’s besides. And then the Lords of Winterfell after Thorren Stark bent the knee to Aegon the Conqueror nearly three hundred years ago. Eventually they reached them.
Ned looked up at the stone likeness of his father, and his older brother Brandon. Both killed by the Mad King before Ned and Robert rose in rebellion together. He watched his friend reach up and cup the stone cheek of his sister.
“She was prettier than this. She doesn’t belong down here. She belongs on a hill somewhere with the sun on her.” Robert said in a softer voice than Ned was used to hearing.
“She’s a Stark of Winterfell your grace, this is where she belongs.” He replied solemnly.
“In my dreams I kill him a thousand times. It’s still less than he deserves.” Ned watched his friends fists clench in anger as he turned away from the statue with sadness in his eyes. You never knew her Robert, he wanted to say, you saw her beauty but not the iron beneath. Yet he stayed silent.
“He’s dead, your grace.” It was all he could bring himself to say.
“And took Lyanna with him. All I am left with is the boy as a reminder of the wife I could’ve had. Rhaegar took her from me, and Seven Kingdoms couldn’t fill the hole she left behind.”
“Is Kayne much like her?” He finally brought it upon himself to ask the question.
“More and more each day. There are some times I cannot bring myself to look at him. He makes friends easy, wherever he goes men flock to him. Bastard or no he has a good heart. There are men in Kingslanding who swore themselves to him. Heh. My old squire Justin Massey, the bastard of Nightsong, Lord Gulian Swann’s second son. That’s just the highborn ones. And you should see how the girls throw himself at him! Ha! Servant girls and highborn maidens alike Ned! Last year at Highgarden he near enough had half the girls of the Reach wandering into his tent! Ha! But he turns them away I’m told.” That was good to know. At least the boy was not as debauched as his father. Lyanna would be proud of that at least.
“The Greyjoy girl.” Ned said at once.
“Asha? Aye he took her into his bed, or rather the other way around. Can’t say what he sees in her. She dresses like a man most of the time, carries weapons with her everywhere. Curses and drinks like a savage and is always starting scraps with squires and the like. Maybe that makes her all the more fun eh? I don’t mind a savage in bed.” The King roared with laughter again, it echoed through the crypts. “Ah damn it Ned, smile for once. He’s a good lad. More than once I’ve considered naming him heir, if only to see the look on Cersei’s face. But Jon Arryn disliked him, can’t say why. If Lyanna had lived it would have been different… it would have united our houses permanently. But it’s not too late.”
“Your grace?”
“I have a son, you have a daughter. Let them wed and bind our houses. Joffrey to your Sansa. A fine match they’ll make.” Ned liked that little. Starks did not tend to do well in the South.
“You would do us a great honour, your grace. But Sansa is not yet twelve. I mislike the idea of sending her south alone.” He tried to remain as diplomatic as possible. Robert Baratheon was not a man you would want to displease.
“She won’t be alone. Eddard Stark I would name you Hand of the King. Why else would I have come this far North?” Ned fell to his knee at once before Robert pulled him up again with a rough grip.
“You honour me your grace.”
“Enough of honour! I’m not trying to honour you I’m trying to get you to run my Kingdom while I eat, drink and whore my way into an early grave.” The King laughed and slapped his large belly.
“I… I shall need to think on it.” He had not been to Kingslanding since the end of the rebellion, it was not a place he thought he would ever be returning to.
“Fine fine. Come, there is to be a feast, yes?”
“Yes, your grace. There as not been a King in Winterfell since King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne visited.” And with that they began to walk away from the tombs of the dead.
“I did not come to talk of dragonspawn long dead.” With that Robert took the lead, marching off up the stairs to the surface once again, Ned following in his wake.
Robert still seemed to be the man he once knew, if only quite a bit larger, but Kayne intrigued him. In some aspects he seemed to be Robert writ young, while in others perhaps there was a flash of Stark. He wondered who else had influence on the boy.