Chapter Text
Chaos would be a good way to describe what Winterfell’s Great Hall had turned into. Ned wanted to put his head in his hands and pray to the gods but he was too busy taking account of everyone that had suddenly appeared to have the time. That and he had to keep Robert from splitting open the head of a young Daenerys Targaryen. The poor girl was frightened and hiding as best she could behind Ben, who had chosen to step in front of her while he grabbed Robert.
That wasn’t the only problem to be arising. At the far end of the hall he caught two men in a heated argument then a punch being thrown. With them was his ward, Theon, but the lad showed no signs of truly knowing who they were despite being shoved in with them. With the Old Bear, Ned found a similar fight happening with the deserter Mance Rayder.
Cat had the children with her and had even motioned for Jon to be near them instead of caught up in the worst of the chaos. It was the most he could hope for with him. It took Stannis helping to calm Robert even if it was obvious the younger Baratheon brother wanted little to do with the king. Renly had easily placed himself on the edge of a table to watch and made no move to be of any help. Neither had Jaime Lannister but nor had he lifted his sword to end the dragon princess’ life on order from the king.
When, at last, things seemed to be calming Ned found that it was only the back corner still in disaster. And now that he was looking he figured out who they were. Part of the Greyjoy family. It had to have been Victarion and Euron Greyjoy fighting from what little he remembered of their looks from the siege on Pyke. Not that either had actually been there. It was more a deduction of Balon not being there.
It wasn’t quite clear what they were trading blows over when all that was really heard was laughter. Unlike with Robert, Ned had no such desire to get between that. Neither did the scruffy looking priest off to the side of them with Theon and possibly a woman, quite possibly his ward’s sister by looks alone.
“Enough!” The end call didn’t come from him. In fact, Cat was glaring over at the Greyjoys where she held Rickon to her chest at the other end of the hall. “There are children here.”
“Not my children,” one of the Greyjoys said. The eyepatch wearing one, Euron.
“As if anyone could care where your bastards are,” the woman scoffed. “You’ve done frightened the inlander babes.”
“I believe that honor goes to your other uncle.”
Ned watched the blood being spit to the side and how Euron picked up the corner of a gold cloak to wipe off his face. Only to have Victarion swing another fist at him for it. Another fight didn’t start as the Greyjoys both decided to separate, easily placing the other three between them. At least they were able to govern themselves.
With that taken care of, Ned turned to where Jeor and Benjen had Mance sitting on a bench. There was nothing to bind the deserter with but they seemed to be in civil standing for now. He wasn’t amused to find Jorah Mormont sitting separate near the Targaryen girl but he could be dealt with later. A look was taken at everyone else in his Great Hall but he found that he didn’t know some of them.
Certainly not that blue haired son and father duo on the opposite bench of Daenerys nor the very old maester next to her. Nor did he know the terrified looking young man entirely separate from everyone else. A fat boy with wide eyes and looking a second away from either puking or crying.
On the opposite side of the hall he found the Lannister siblings sitting with the Baratheons and none of them looking happy. His own family was on the dais closer together than any of them normally would be.
It was finally quiet. Looks were being shared within groups but none of them knew how they been gathered like this nor for what purpose. Tension was thick enough to cut with a sword but as the thought crossed Ned noticed that there wasn’t a weapon in sight. Not even a utensil on the tables. All there seemed to be were several stacks of leather bound journals in the dead center of the Hall.
As the lord of the hall, Ned took it upon himself to step towards the journals and crouched down to lift one. It had no inscriptions on the brown leather but when he flipped it open there was writing on the first page.
A Game of Thrones Part One
He rose to his full height with a flip of the page. It had his brows furrowing as he skimmed what had to be an account from a black brother. The journal was opened in the middle to see if carried it like that but he paused at how at the top of one of the pages it had his daughter’s name. Another cut and it was his son’s. Another and it was Daenerys.
The journal was dropped as he took a knee to pull another one out. He opened it to the middle to read Cat’s name at the top. Another cut and it was Jon’s. A third came with Tyrion’s name. Ned set the journal aside to move the stack to grab one from the bottom. A few of the first flips only showed strange titles like The Iron Suitor or The Ugly Little Girl, The Sacrifice, The Kingbreaker. There were names he didn’t know such as Davos or Reek but quite often he found Jon’s name. Jon, Jon, Jon…none of his other children.
“Ned, dammit, what’re you doing down there?” Robert asked with a fist banged on a table.
“These journals…” He put the one his hand back in the pile. “They seem to have personal accounts of certain people here.” There were too many for Jon.
The stacks were gathered in his arms before he stood once more and brought them to the king’s table. Ned gave glance to his left at the sound something hitting a door and saw Victarion failing to open the Great Hall doors. He looked back to Robert with a cautious wonder of if they were trapped inside. There was an annoyed glint in his best friend’s eyes to suggest he might be thinking the same.
“Let me see one of these,” Robert said while taking the first journal off the pile. A random cut was made. “’And above all, frowning down from Aegon’s high hill, was the Red Keep; seven huge drum-towers crowned with iron ramparts…’ What care do we have of what the Red Keep looks like?” There was a scoffing laugh and the journal dropped.
“Let me see that.” Renly reached across his brother’s large belly to pick up the same journal. He made a cut closer to the start and peeled it open. “Oh, Arya. Who is that?”
“My second daughter,” Ned answered.
There was nod and hum from the man. “’Arya’s stitches were crooked again.’” Renly read the first sentence before tossing the journal open on the table. “Boring, boring,” he muttered as he ran a finger down the page, “it’s all talk of Joffrey between some girls.” It was easy to see and hear that he was disappointed. “Give me a different one.”
“Don’t be demanding such things,” Stannis scolded with a clipped voice.
“Fine, I’ll get it myself,” the youngest Baratheon brother said while reaching for another journal from the pile. “’Farther on she came upon a feast of corpses. Savagely slaughtered, the feasters lay strewn across overturned chairs and hacked trestle tables, asprawl in pools of congealing blood. Some had lost limbs, even heads. Severed hands clutched bloody cups, wooden spoons, roast fowl, heels of bread. In a throne above them sat a dead man with the head of a wolf.’”
Unease coiled in Ned’s gut at the description. He first looked to Robert to find a similar sense to him and then to his wife to find horror in her blue eyes. This was nothing good, they all knew it. But that didn’t stop Renly from tossing that journal aside to grab a different on.
“’He put a baby in her belly and made me do the killing.’” Renly held the journal open on the table. “’I would have killed him too, but Balon would have no kinslaying in his hall. He sent Euron into exile, never to return…’”
“Silence your tongue, stag.” From across the hall there was a snarl from Victarion.
“This one your account?” Renly asked blithely. The journal was lifted with a delicate wave of it towards the seething Greyjoy. “Certainly got me curious now.”
“Pray tell,” Euron mused, “who were you talking about that with? Weren’t your forbade from speaking about it?”
Ned saw the strike coming from a mile away. “Nuncle!” Asha yelped and fell away from where she had been sitting next to Euron. “Punch him somewhere else.” She shoved at where her uncle was on the bench in a failing attempt to move him down from her.
There was a furious snap of something too quiet to hear then Victarion was walking away. To the very far end of the table the Greyjoys were at to leave his family behind. A bit like a skittish animal, the priestly looking man followed him. Leaving Theon and Asha to sit with their other uncle. Ned knew he was far from the only one studying the family but he turned back to the journals to move on.
“Perhaps,” an aged voice spoke up from across the hall, “it would be in our better interest to read these journals in order.”
“They’ve been pulled out and moved around,” Jaime pointed out, a touch lazily, “who knows what order they’re to be originally.” It was a slap at Renly but no one acknowledged it.
“I-I can-can figure it ou-out.” The fat boy sitting with the black brothers and strange Targaryen/unknown family group.
“What’s your name, lad?” Ned asked while motioning for him to come forward.
“S-S-Samwell Tarly.”
Randyll Tarly’s eldest, it seemed. He couldn’t claim to know of the man well nor his children. A nod was still given to the boy to let him take a look at the journals. They were separated out to reveal that there were a total of eleven of differing lengths. By the way Samwell was sorting them it seemed that the three shortest were in the center between the other eight.
“They-they’re marked,” Samwell explained to no one, “one through eleven. They s-seemed to be grouped by b-book. A Game of Thrones, A Clash of Kings, A Storm of Swords, A Feast for Crows, and A Dance with Dragons.”
“And we’re expected to…read them all?” The blue haired man with his blue haired son asked, a touch skeptically.
“Surely not,” Benjen replied, “we don’t exactly have the time to sit around.”
Perhaps not but Ned didn’t see a way for them to leave. If the doors were blocked then they were trapped within the Great Hall. He was hardly the only one to realize that either. The Old Bear had a weary look about him as did Mance at his side. Most of the Greyjoys were settled in for a extended period of time, seemingly having decided they were stuck before everyone else. Tyrion, too, had settled in with a resigned sort of drop of his head to the side to watch everyone else.
“I can’t be stuck here,” Cersei scoffed, “my children need their mother.”
“They’ve got a whole keep of servants,” Tyrion said with a wave of his hand, “they’re to want or need for nothing.”
“That is not what I fear,” the lion queen bared her teeth at her brother.
“The children are fine.” It was Robert’s annoyed drawl that cut Cersei off. “It’s the rest of us that needs to be thought about. Trapped as we are.”
The truth of the matter steeped the hall in thick silence. Ned glanced at his wife and children to find Cat still holding Rickon but now had Bran under her arm too. Arya clung to Jon’s side while Sansa clutched Robb’s hand on the table. He wished to join them but he couldn’t yet.
“Maybe we have to read them to get out.” The hopeful suggestion came from Daenerys. She had an innocence about her that Ned knew would never last in girls nor would it be found in boys after a certain age.
“Like in a hero’s story?” The blue haired boy asked, leaning on the table to look at the dragon princess.
“Uh-huh!”
It wasn’t the worst suggestion to be made. Ned looked to the king to find Robert scowling beneath his beard but gave him a begrudging nod. The real question was to be who would read them. His first thought was to do it himself but he had never been one to speak aloud in most matters. Robert asked the question to the Great Hall but was met with silence.
“Oh, I’ll do it.” Asha stood up from the Greyjoy table and stepped on the bench to climb over it. “Toss it over, chubby.”
She stood on the bench opposite her brother and uncle with an expectant hand held out to Samwell. The poor boy was trembling as he walked the first journal over to her. Ned watched the interaction for a moment before stepping back from the royal family table to join his own family.
Asha waved the journal at the hall before cracking it open, still standing on her bench to be above them all. “’We should start back,’ Gared urged as the woods began to grow dark around them. ‘The wildlings are dead.’” Her voice was strong as she read from the journal. Half the hall didn’t appear to be listening but that was to be expected.
The account of the black brother went through what seemed like what might have been a usual ranging. Benjen and Jeor shared a hushed conversation but there was no interruption of Asha. Her voice was even but the words themselves carried an anxious weight.
“’A shadow emerged from the dark wood. It stood in front of Royce. Tall, it was, and gaunt and hard as old bones, with flesh pale as milk.’” Many of the north froze at the description but those of the south remained unbothered. “Its armor seemed to change color as it moved; here it was white as new-fallen snow, there black as shadow, everywhere dappled with the deep grey-green of the trees. The patterns ran like moonlight on water with every step it took.’”
The following fight of an Other against a mortal man froze many hearts but none dared to speak. Even the south knew of the old tales. Of the Long Night and White Walkers that came with it. But, still, a few of the hall knew little of the tales and showed now sign of being ill at ease by the journal.
“’The broken sword fell from nerveless fingers. Will closed his eyes to pray. Long, elegant hands brushed his cheek, then tightened around his throat. They were gloved in the finest moleskin and sticky with blood, yet the touch was icy cold.’” There was only a brief pause from Asha before she was shrugging to herself and turning the page. This was just a story to her. “’Bran: The morning had dawned clear and cold, with a crispness that hinted at the end of summer.’”
Catelyn held her second son closer as Asha easily read of his account of his first beheading with his brothers and father. It was less disturbing for those of the north than the first account had been with the Other. There was a touch of a scoff from Theon about how he was described but no one had words to share. To them it was best to get this over and done with.
The direwolf and her pups got an excited murmur from the Stark children but Cat and Ned could only share a look over their heads. It seemed an ill omen for the direwolf to be killed by the stag.
“’An albino,’ Theon Greyjoy said with wry amusement. ‘This one will die even faster than the others.’” Asha didn’t bother not rolling her eyes at her brother’s pettiness. “’Jon Snow gave his father’s ward a long, chilling look. ‘I think not, Greyjoy,’ he said. ‘This one belongs to me.’”
Asha turned the page and, restless with her standing, started to pace up and down the bench. “’Catelyn: Catelyn had never liked this godswood.’” She feared this would get quite boring if it was all about the Stark family. But continued to read with little care for how Lady Catelyn went a shade paler with her account.
When mention of the the dead Jon Arryn came there was a hush from the royal family table. This had not yet occurred. Robert got a twisted, pinched look beneath his beard and Ned, too, a similar reaction to how he was described by Cat’s account.
“’Ned squeezed her hand. ‘There must be a feast, of course, with singers, and Robert will want to hunt. I shall send Jory south with an honor guard to meet them on the kingsroad and escort them back. Gods, how are we going to feed them all? On his way already, you said? Damn the man. Damn his royal hide.’”
The extended time speaking had Asha’s throat drying. She wished for a good ale as she turned her eyes to the next page. “’Daenerys: Her brother held the gown up for her inspection. ‘This is beauty. Touch it. Go on. Caress the fabric.’”
From nothing goblets and cups started to appear on the tables. Pitchers of wine, ale, and water alongside them. The magic paused the hall as even Asha stopped her reading and pacing to look down at the table next to her. Her eyes went to her uncle first to see if his strange dabbles of black magic had brought this about but Euron was watching the display with fascination. Not him then. But then who?
It was a question many were thinking but none had answers. As it was, there was a thirst in the hall and a means to quench it had been gifted. It was mostly wine that was poured. Water for the children even as Robb and Jon shared a longing glance at the wine pitchers. Dany did not reach for them and neither did Samwell or Aegon. Wine muddled the senses and mind, and the dragon prince knew it best to not tempt fate with such drinks. Most certainly not trapped in a foreign hall with the present company.
Asha, too, poured herself a cup of ale and raised it in silent toast to no one and nothing before drinking deeply from it. Then she lifted the journal to continue reading.
About Dany’s account of her brother and the meeting to come with a Dothraki khal. Many around had the sense to be uncomfortable with the speech of Viserys towards his sister but she showed no signs of it having bothered her. That was how he spoke. His actions as well gave more than one adult an uneasy feeling. Incest among the Targaryens was well known but it was one thing to turn a blind eye and another to have it read plain to them.
Most of the Greyjoy family had little interest in the birth and movement of Dany but others listened intently. More so to when the account moved on to the feast at Khal Drogo’s manse. There were few that understood the fear in the words when Dany noted that she was the only woman at the feast but Cat gave the girl a pitying look. The world was harsh to its girls.
“’Smile,’ Viserys whispered nervously, his hand falling to the hilt of his sword. ‘And up straight. Let him see that you have breasts. Gods know, you have little enough as is.’ Daenerys smiled, and stood up straight.’” Asha swallowed what was in her cup with it raised to the silver-blond girl with a faint smile. “’Eddard: The visitors poured through the castle gates in a river of gold and silver and polished steel, three hundred strong, a pride of bannermen and knights, of sworn swords and freeriders.’”
The move on to the next account left Dany taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. This was a very anxiety inducing situation, she was finding. Possibly more than being on the run. In this room she was trapped with the very man that sent knives to kill her and her brothers.
Asha’s voice went on to speak of the arrival of the king and his family. Of the demand to see the crypts beneath Winterfell and the talk Robert and Ned were to have about Jon Arryn and his death. It moved on to Arryn’s boy then to the king naming Ned his Hand. That brought a tense silence to the dais where Cat looked to her husband in the hopes of catching his eye. But Ned was watching the Greyjoy woman read with a tense frown.
“’For a moment Eddard Stark was filled with a terrible sense of foreboding. This was his place, here in the north. He looked at the stone figures all around them, breathed deep in the chill silence of the crypts. He could feel the eyes of the dead. They were all listening, he knew. And winter was coming.’”
A sort of shiver went around the hall at the proclamation. Summer’s end was approaching and never had House Stark’s words meant more.
“’Jon: There were times - not many, but a few - when Jon Snow was glad he was a bastard.’” That same dread at first seeing his name in the journals filled Ned as Asha read. This was never to end well. “’As he filled his wine cup once more from a passing flagon, it struck him that this might be one of them.’”
The account moved with a feast. A few had interest in what a bastard would think about such a thing. And when it came to Jon speaking with his uncle Benjen those few grew to a couple more. His interest in joining the Night’s Watch had Ned praying but not deciding if that was a bad desire or not to have.
On the dais Jon ducked his head in embarrassment as hisself in the journal made a fool while into his cups. This was entirely unfair.
“’Some woman, no doubt. Most of them are.’ He favored Jon with a rueful grin. ‘Remember this, boy. All dwarfs may be bastards, yet not all bastards need be dwarfs.’” There was no denying the truth and Tyrion raised a wine goblet to his futureself. “’And with that he turned and sauntered back into the feast, whistling a tune. When he opened the door, the light from within threw his shadow clear across the yard, and for just a moment Tyrion Lannister stood tall as a king.’”
“Would that to be true,” Tyrion laughed with a tip of his wine back. There was an answering laugh from his brother but nothing except a scornful snort from his sister.
“’Catelyn: Of all the rooms in Winterfell’s Great Keep, Catelyn’s bedchambers were the hottest. She seldom had to light a fire. The castle had been built over a natural hot springs, and the scalding waters rushed through its walls and chambers like blood through a man’s body, driving the chill from the stone halls, filling the glass gardens with a moist warmth, keeping the earth from freezing. Open pools smoked day and night in a dozen small courtyards. That was a little thing, in summer: in winter, it was the difference between life and death.’”
There was a horrified settle in Catelyn’s bones as the Greyjoy woman went on to speak of the moments post-lovemaking with her husband. Ned had a furious pinch to his brows and their children looked as horrified as she felt. A few smatterings of laughter went around the hall but it seemed no one would test the wrath of the Starks by commenting.
Asha had no issues carrying on with Catelyn’s account. They spoke of Robert’s offer for Ned to be Hand then of Maester Luwin having a message to give the lady of House Stark. There was intrigue surrounding the letter from Lysa Arryn that soon turned in a confusion and suspicion when it spoke of Cersei Lannister poisoning Jon Arryn. The king turned on the queen but even in the first stages of drink even he could recognize the genuine bewilderment in his wife.
And Cersei, she had no idea what any of that was about. She rarely interacted with Jon Arryn at all. The confusion was strong enough in her being that she couldn’t even feel the anger at being used as a scapegoat for someone else’s deed. So strong in fact that she hadn’t had the chance to hide it.
The account moved on to what the Stark family was to do with Ned accepting to be Robert’s Hand. Of which children would go south and which would stay.
“’When I must. Preparations must be made. It will be a fortnight before we are ready to depart. I would sooner let Jon enjoy these last few days. Summer will end soon enough, and childhood as well. When the time comes, I will tell him myself.’”
Asha yawned and finished off the ale in her cup. Then dropped off her pacing bench to fold the corner of the page and close the journal. She’d had enough reading. The leather journal was tossed back onto the table next to the others for someone else to pick up and continue. A significant portion had already been gone through by her.
When no hand reached out for it platters of food started to appear. Much like the drinks of before. A magic that made itself known in a way that stated that no one was leaving for a good, long time.
Which meant there was likely to be an issue of privies. As little Rickon discovered when he tugged on his mother’s arm with a question of if he could leave to pee outside. Catelyn frowned but stood from the table to check the doors behind the dais in the hopes that one would open to the hall. That hope was dashed but it did open. A couple candles were flickering in a privy where most certainly one had never been.
It didn’t concern Rickon. He needed to pee and he could pee here. There was purse of her lips but Catelyn thought it best to not question the strange happenings in her home. Only stepped out to let her son relieve himself in privacy with the door left a crack open since he couldn’t reach the handle fully yet.
Conversation was sparse at first in the hall. None too sure on what to say nor to whom. But children had a way of easing tension as Sansa rose from her chair to sit down across from Dany. She was curious about the dragon princess. And she seemed to be the most anxious of those in the hall and as a lady she saw it best to ease her if she could. No one should be nervous in her home.
From there some of the tension broke. With Renly attempting to joke with his brothers and failing miserably to the point of Tyrion stepping in to share a talk or two with him. The Greyjoys had finally decided it was time to catch up with the lost kraken even if Theon had a sour note about it. It was of no surprise to Aegon that his guardian had whispered words of caution to share but nor did he feel it pertinent to keep his silence. He could mind his tongue enough to speak with strangers.
It was tense with those of the Night’s Watch. The Old Bear was a cold presence to Mance and perhaps colder still to his brooding son on the opposite side of the table. Benjen had no love for deserters nor words to share.
One thing that remained alive and seeking throughout the Great Hall was who would be next to pick up the journal to carry on. For when they would all be released from this containment.