A Dragon Kissed by Sun

Eddard Stark

Ned Stark always called himself a man of honour all his life. He always thought that his big brother Brandon Stark would be the lord of Winterfell. As for himself, he always thought he would marry a lady from a house and spend his life with her and help his brother whenever he needed his help. In The Tourney of Harrenhal, he meets the girl that took his breath away. Lady Ashara Dayne.

He remembered that he couldn't stop staring at her; she was the most beautiful woman in the realm with haunting violet eyes. But no matter how much he tried, he couldn't take the courage to ask her for a simple dance. His brother never had problems with asking ladies.

Thanks to his brother, he got a dance with the beautiful lady. After that night, he met with her a few more times. He promised her that they would marry, and a Stark always had honour. But when Prince Rhaegar Targaryen kidnapped my sister. My big brother went to King's Landing demanding the prince's head without any actual proof, but just rumours.

Rickard Stark went to King's Landing to free my brother, but they burned in King's Landing.

The Mad King called for the head of Robert Baratheon and Ned Stark, and the kidnapping of Lyanna Stark started the Rebellion. And Ned was forced to Marry Lady Catelyn Tully, the lady who was supposed to marry his brother, to have House Tully's support. He broke his promise to his love.

As usual, Eddard Stark was with the Northern forces when he saw Mors Umber losing both his sons. He watched this man, a seasoned warrior belonging to the faithful House Umber, sinking to his knees, hiding tears behind a torrent of insults and swear words. A royalist knight pierced the chest of the eldest boy, and several bolts stopped the youngest as he was charging on his garron.

They went on, despite the heat, despite the tiredness that overwhelmed them and made the rattling of steel against the plate unbearable. On the riverbanks, there were corpses, dead horses, and forgotten weapons everywhere. Then, there were bodies floating on the Green Fork, drifting slowly with the current, cloaks billowing with the water and the gusts of wind, mimicking the sails, turning them into derisory boats.

Rumours spread quicker than he thought on a battlefield; when Ser Lyn Corbray led a charge against the Dornishmen and broke them, they learned the news immediately, even if they were on the opposite side of the rebel host. However, everyone's attention got back to the Trident, precisely to the ford where peasants and merchants used to cross with their goods, a place that was part of the battlefield, that day.

"Robert is facing Rhaegar!" one of the Manderlys shouted. "They're fighting in the water."

He had no time to think about it or to worry about Robert, though. Ser Barristan Selmy and a group of men who had survived the Battle of the Bells resisted them fiercely. Ned tightened his grip on the pommel of his swords and parried the blows of the Crownlands knight in front of him before countering. The knight was bathed in sweat, and Ned thought he was just as dishevelled as him. He nevertheless kept on swinging his sword, waiting for his enemy to get tired, but the knight, whoever he was, didn't give up. They avoided a dead horse, his opponent leapt over a wounded man who feebly asked for help, and their dance went on, regardless of their ragged breath, regardless of Eddard's heart beating wildly.

"Are you the Stark boy?" the knight finally asked him.

"I'm Lord Eddard Stark," he replied before realising it was the first time he introduced himself this way.

Suddenly, Ice felt more natural in his hands, and his next blow was stronger, making the knight dizzy.

"Son of Lord Rickard Stark." The ancient sword hit the royalist's thigh, and the man winced in pain. "Lady Lyanna Stark's brother."

A cry escaped the knight's lips when Ice dug into his abdomen, and his longsword hit the ground with a thud. Eddard heard a cracking noise while they both panted and braced themselves as hard as they could, holding the sword. Eddard's hands on the hilt, the knight's bloodied fingers on the blade, and after a never-ending wait, the man gave up and collapsed on the grass. Ned had to start over to pull off the valyrian steel from his midsection, and he finally looked around him, out of breath, wondering how long he could go on like this.

He didn't see any royalist at first except two dozen who were already dead and laid on the riverbank. The Northerners he was with crowded themselves around a mounted boy who served House Baratheon, then Jon Umber caught sight of him and called Eddard. He ran to the group.

"Lord Stark!" the mounted youth exclaimed, pulling the reins of his restless horse. He must have shouted and screamed for hours, for his voice was hoarse and croaky. "It's over, m'lord! Robert killed Rhaegar."

Eddard didn't reply and let the Northerners around him rejoice themselves; he was mulling over the man's last words. Robert killed Rhaegar. He couldn't realise what it meant and all the consequences. Robert killed Rhaegar. His friend's voices were muffled, barely audible as if he was underwater; an unusual grin enlightened Rickard Karstark's face while all the Northerners exulted. Jon Umber wiped the mix of blood and sweat covering his forehead; Eddard could read on his curling lips that Umber was saying something, but he couldn't guess what. Rhaegar is dead. His thoughts went back to the Tourney and to Lyanna. He can't hurt Lyanna anymore. Then a realisation dawned upon him. How are we going to find her, now that he can't tell us where he kept her?

As far as he remembered, he had never really trusted Roose Bolton, though he couldn't say where this wariness came from. Of course, the man had once implied he loved the tradition of the first night, and some people reported with a frightened look he demanded that the peasant girls spend their wedding night in his keep of Dreadfort, but some of the Mountain clans kept the same brutish tradition as well. That was the kind of stories Benjen and Lyanna told themselves on long stormy nights, shivering next to an enormous fireplace. Is it something about his eyes? Eddard couldn't tell, but when Howland confessed to him he didn't like Bolton either, his friend's intuition strengthened his opinion on his Bannerman. At least, I have one good reason to distrust him now.

Ser Barristan Selmy had been severely wounded near the end of the battle, and, as he was a well-known member of the Kingsguard, Robert could have commanded to finish him off. Bolton would have volunteered, Eddard was sure about that, or he could have decided to let him die. Bolton had advised Robert to kill Selmy, whereas Eddard had spoken out against that possibility, reminding Robert of the knight's numerous feats of arms.

They were in Robert's tent, and Robert was lying on some bedroll his squire had put on the ground. He was wounded after his single combat with Rhaegar, and though he would heal soon, the after-effects of the battle made him look as weak as a child. The maester, a youth hardly escaped from the Citadel, was tending to his wounds, eliciting a few swearwords from time to time; Bolton and Eddard glared at each other and sharpened their arguments. After another plea, Eddard convinced Robert to let Selmy live, but Robert himself chose to send him the maester as soon as the man would be done with him. Roose Bolton's cold, pale eyes glistened with anger; he swallowed his pride, wished Robert a speedy recovery, and left.

"The supercilious Lord of Dreadfort," Robert commented, wincing as he tried to lean on his elbows. He soon gave up and collapsed on his pallet.

"Don't you think he's pretty cheeky?" Eddard complained, barely containing his anger. "He contradicted me as if I was his peer. I'm not his peer."

Despite his condition, Robert gave a hint of a shrug and repressed a smile.

"I'm sorry, but he's your bannerman," he said, pretending to lecture Eddard. "As the Warden of the North, it's your job to make Bolton obey."

Robert's slight frowning was so funny Ned couldn't help a chuckle.

"You should be proud, Ned. I thought Bolton was some cold-blooded animal, but you pissed him off in a way he almost showed his emotions."

Ned cackled again. Let's do this. Let's laugh when he makes a jape. We'll stay friends as long as we content ourselves with delight, with the mere surface of things. I shouldn't delve into the essential with him, or we would argue instantly. He left Robert with the persistent feeling he had already lost his friend.

The smallfolk began to wade in the ford as the body count rose and as maesters hurried on the battlefield, trying to help those who still could be saved. In the meanwhile, the rebels mourned their dead. To Eddard's great astonishment, the story about Robert and Rhaegar's single combat had spread in the countryside, and people kept saying Robert's war-hammer had destroyed the Crown Prince's breastplate, sending the rubies adorning his armour in the water. On his way to Robert's tent, Eddard stopped and watched them as they trudged in the muddy water, breeches rolled up to their knees, scrutinising the river bed, but he doubted they could find anything else than human bodies or discarded weapons.

Arryn turned back and called him.

"We shouldn't make him wait, Ned. There is news from King's Landing, I think."

Eddard sighed, but Arryn's reproachful tone didn't give him a choice; he followed him with a preoccupied air, wondering what the news could be. A negotiation with King Aerys seemed very unlikely, let alone a surrender. When they entered Robert's tent, he was still on his bedroll, leaning against a heap of furs instead of pillows and a bandage half-covered his broad chest. Robert greeted them, told them to sit on the stools displayed by his squire, then got straight to the point.

"We can't waste time," he announced. "Rhaegar's death doesn't mean the end of this war; as long as the king's bony ass is sitting on the Iron Throne..."

What about Lyanna?

"Anyway, ravens arrived early this morning, and here are the news. Rhaella and his son are on their way to Dragonstone. However, Elia of Dorne and her children are still in the Red Keep. Aerys ordered preparations throughout King's Landing."

"What kind of preparations?"

"We don't know," Robert replied, heaving a sigh. "That's my point. We can't stay here any longer. And... I received news from the Westerlands. Tywin Lannister gathered his host and is heading to the capital. No need to say that Aerys begged for his help."

"It couldn't have been worse," Arryn said, getting on his feet and pacing back and forth.

"I heard that Aerys had asked for his help weeks ago," Robert went on, "and this Lannister bastard had turned a deaf ear, but... it sounds like he changed his mind. We need to stop them. If Tywin arrives in King's Landing before us, we're fucked up. If the remains of the royal army and the Lannister host can use the preparations Aerys already made, we're fucked up."

Robert ran his fingers through his brown hair and stared at Eddard.

"You're the one in charge, now. This fucking maester says I won't be able to ride before a few days, and we can't wait this long. You'll command the host, Ned."

Command the host. Be in charge. His head was pounding.

After a while, after the urge of shouting and protesting that he was not qualified for all this stopped tormenting him, he pondered on Robert's decision and realised leading the host had an advantage. A tremendous advantage. As long as he would be in charge, Eddard would not allow any unnecessary violence.

Elia Martell

She heard the screams of terror through the door. Her Rhaegar had died in the Trident, and he had fallen. The man she loved. She wanted to cry and mourn for him, but she knew all was over. She prayed Ser Jaime would be the one to come through the door. She knew he would protect them even from his own father's men. She looked down at her baby boy. Aegon was crying and has started for hours now. His cheeks were red, and so were his eyes.

Elia wanted to calm him; she leaned closer to his face and kissed his cheek. She tried her hardest to try and look strong for her child. Aegon would cry even more if he saw her crying; Elia knew that. She will be brave for her child.

Rhaenys had hidden in the Rhaegar's solar. She left when the screams of suffering and pain were heard through the door. She tried to stop her, but Aegon was in her hands and couldn't stop her from leaving the chamber. Elia's mind went to Lya; she hoped she would be safe with Jaehaerys. She could feel that it would be a boy, not a girl, like Rhaegar thought.

She heard the footsteps coming to the door, a shout was heard, and then the door burst open, almost fell to the floor. Walking inside was a monster. He was taller and bigger than any man she had seen before. His armour was covered in blood in his hands, and his sword was wet with fresh blood. Elia's heart stopped for a moment. Seeing the man, she knew this was the end. Jaime wouldn't come. Hot tears were in her eyes, and she couldn't hold them anymore. She pulled Aegon behind her to protect him.

"Everything will be alright, my little dragon", she whispered with a melodic tone as tears were streaming down her cheek.

Oberyn and Doran will take revenge; my brothers, please love Jaehaerys. It is not his fault, Elia thought. As the monster was walking towards her, his eyes were like a monster, with no feelings.

Jaehaerys, my son; I know one day you will have the throne. Burn all The Lannister, my son.

Eddard Stark

Long before the host reached the high walls surrounding King's Landing, he noticed the plumes of smoke concealing the roofs, wreathing the towers in their greyish embrace and curling in the clear sky. His men, the brave soldiers who had faced the royal army in Stoney Sept and at the Trident before making this forced march, began to exchange puzzled looks and to whisper. They didn't understand what they saw, and, at first, he shook his head in bewilderment, remembering what Robert had said about the 'preparations' King Aerys had ordered throughout the town and the harbour. Were these fires in the largest city of the realm the consequences of the king's lunacy? Only a sick mind could plan the destruction of the capital, which would kill thousands of innocent people.

However, as Howland and he scanned the horizon, they remembered the tales about Aerys' fascination for fire, especially for wildfire, and Ned realised the dark plumes of smoke were not consistent with what one could expect from the king's precious pyromancers.

When Aerys had chosen Lord Rossart, a member of the Alchemists' Guild, to be his new hand a few days earlier, the king had put all his hopes in someone who wouldn't fight like Jon Connington, nor temporise like Owen Merryweather. Rossart had never held a sword before and wasn't famous for his political skills, but he knew more about wildfire than anyone else in the Seven Kingdoms. Still, this can't be wildfire.

Wildfire would burn everything and illuminate the sky with uncanny green hues, blinding the Stark forces as well as the inhabitants. Eddard imagined a terrible heat, charred corpses, and an infernal landscape that would give the Seven Hells a foretaste. What he saw from the hills overlooking the capital was frightening yet altogether different: the fires were numerous, but they didn't spread in the city. The plumes of smoke were dark, too dark to result from wildfire, and the sequence of events disconcerted him, as well: Aerys was mad, but he was smart enough to wait for the rebel forces before setting fire to the city. Destroying his enemies obsessed him, and Ned took the king's grudge toward the Northerners seriously. He wouldn't let us escape if he ever had a chance to kill us unless someone else who chose the traditional way over the occult sciences set fire to King's Landing.

Shifting on his saddle, he turned to Howland Reed and Wyman Manderly.

"Tywin Lannister," he said flatly.

Brow furrowed, the two young lords looked back at him; while Howland slowly regained his impassible expression as soon as he processed Ned's words, Wyman Manderly cursed in astonishment.

"Tywin fucking Lannister? Seven buggering Hells, Eddard... This would be his... work? It doesn't make sense!"

"On the contrary," Howland replied, shivering despite the warm sun, "it makes sense. Do you think someone like Tywin Lannister would choose to die for a lost cause? For a king who rejected his daughter as a possible match for the Crown Prince? Aerys humiliated Tywin Lannister and this, my lords, is his revenge. He's burning the city where his daughter was supposed to marry."

"Burning a city such as King's Landing is crazy," Manderly protested, an incredulous smile on his face.

"Call it retaliation, then. Gods, we're not listening to the Rains of Castamere. We're watching this song."

Releasing the reins for a heartbeat, the Crannogman showed the city with a sweeping gesture. Then he set his green eyes on the pillars of smoke darkening the mid-afternoon sky as a strange expression crept over his triangular face.

"King Aerys will die before sunset," he announced.

Eddard glanced at Wyman Manderly, eager to watch his bannerman's reaction: disbelief lingered on his features, and he swallowed hard, but he didn't criticise Howland's prediction, for once. No matter how the other lords rolled their eyes in annoyance, every time Howland foretold an event, he was right.

"We can't waste time, then. Ned, what do you think?"

"We should hurry."

Trying to forget the stiffness he felt in his back because he lacked sleep and couldn't stand his breastplate anymore, Eddard turned to look at his men: tired but disciplined, the Northerners, the Tully, and Baratheon hosts formed an endless column in the green landscape of the Crownlands, stretching to the horizon. Knights, horse riders from the North, with their mounts, foot soldiers from every part of the realm questioned the Targaryen king: their features showed the same resigned weariness wherever they came from. Where do I lead this army? As he didn't have an answer, he let his horse feel his spurs and hurtled down the hill.

He had been clear when he had given his orders insistent and even uncompromising with Roose Bolton, in fact, and demanded a behaviour beyond reproach. No killing, no looting would be tolerated, and he encouraged his men to know any abuse toward women or children. Once more, he had stared at the pale Lord of Dreadfort, who cleaned his fingernails with his dagger to stave off boredom.

His men had followed his instructions to the letter, but Ned couldn't tell if they were obedient soldiers or if the sight of corpses lying on the burning ruins of the capital had upset them as much as it devastated him. By the time they crossed the Gate of the Gods, the Lannister host had caused more damages than any other disaster since Aegon had founded King's Landing. The Seven, whose solemn faces carved in white stone framed the Gate of the Gods, reminded the travellers that the Faith protected the city, but it seemed they had forgotten the inhabitants.

By his side, Howland cringed on his saddle every time they moved past a burnt house or a heap of bodies. Nothing prepared him to see slaughtered people, Eddard mused. Not that he was hardened compared to his friend, but Crannogmen lived a simple life; they fished, they hunted, they sometimes fought against the harsh environment of the Neck, but they didn't fight their fellow men. Northerners grew up with the terrifying stories of battles against the Wildlings or the creatures beyond the wall, while the tales the older women of the Neck whispered by the fire were about the encounter between the Children of the Forest and strange animals.

We're so different. He glanced once more at Howland, and he could have sworn there were tears in the Crannogman's eyes. He's so empathetic; when most of the men in this host see the horrors surrounding us, he feels the victims' suffering as if it was his. And suddenly, Eddard felt ashamed because the violence they witnessed didn't surprise him.

A squire from the Stormlands caught up with him as they crossed Cobbler Square, an almost cheerful look on his round face. Ned frowned in such a way the squire lost his spirit and lowered his dull blue eyes to the reins of his horse.

"My lord, Lord Robert has been riding to rejoin us, and he shall arrive soon," the boy announced with a reedy voice.

He nodded curtly, and the squire left him, his puzzled gaze revealing how Eddard's coldness toward such news was disturbing. Hooves resonating louder on the cobblestones warned him someone was behind him and Howland. He turned around just in time to see Rickard Karstark's tight-lipped expression.

"What does it mean, Eddard?" Karstark asked in his straightforward style. "Did Tywin Lannister decide to claim the Iron Throne for himself?"

"He would have attacked us, in this case. If he let us in the city, he plans an alliance with Robert."

"With us," Karstark corrected.

Ned felt his shoulders sink, and he swivelled to face his Northerner friend. Karstark's knowing look washed over him but didn't soothe the anxiety anchoring deeper in his bones as they progressed toward the Red Keep.

"Fuck, I don't like it either," Karstark sighed. "And what do these banners on the Red Keep mean?"

What happened to the royal family? The question tormented him since Howland had foretold the king's death; when crossing the Gate of the Gods or looking up at the Red Keep, Ned couldn't help wondering what Tywin Lannister would do with the king, his Hand or Rhaegar's wife.

Every time he saw a dead woman lying in the streets leading to the castle, whether she was young or old, fully dressed or almost naked, he thought of the Dornish princess and hoped the Lannisters had simply locked her in some dungeon. Perhaps some Dornish knight had found a way to rescue her; the idea, as comforting as it may be, seemed unrealistic. After all, Elia of Dorne had somehow stolen his daughter's betrothed, and Tywin Lannister had no taste for forgiveness.

Yet, I couldn't imagine he would command this.

At first, he had thought that Rickard Karstark might be right when he had asked if Lord Tywin was not claiming the Iron Throne: the Lannister banners flying over the Red Keep, their crimson fabric darkened by the greyish smoke of the fires, billowing in the wind, made Jon Arryn curse while Ned feared the worst.

After he had found Ser Jaime Lannister from the Kingsguard sitting on the Iron Throne, King Aerys' bloodied corpse at his feet, he felt trapped. No matter how strict his orders had been concerning violence and looting, no matter what decision he would take later, his name would forever be associated with the Sack of King's Landing and the murder of the last Targaryens.

Ned entered the Throne Room expecting to find the mad king still on the throne. Ready to die and rot there. His eyes looked at the corpse of the old king lying on the floor. The smell of blood was fresh in the hall. Ned wanted to feel rejoice. The king who burned his father and brother was dead. He had his justice, but now Ned only felt emptiness. Like he had achieved nothing, his brother and father were still dead and will stay for the rest of the days.

He slowly looked at the figure sitting on the iron throne. The golden hair, green eyes, and the armour of the king's guard were unmistakable. In front of him smiling was Ser Jaime Lannister, the son of Tywin Lannister.

The young king's guard was smiling like justice had been served, and he was the one to help do that justice. He slowly walked down the stairs of the throne. His right glove was slightly covered in blood.

"I'm waiting who will be the king, not that I care who sits on the Iron Throne anymore," he said with a normal tone. Ned glared at the young knight, and he had just killed his king. The king he swore to protect.

Lannisters and honour are like Oil and Water, Ned thought.

"I would be quiet if I were you ', KingSlayer'," he said the word with venom. At that moment, he saw a flash of anger passing through the young knight's eyes.

He opened his mouth to say something; anything but all the words had died on his throat. He clenched his teeth slightly, and Ned prepared to fight the young Lannister. When soldiers of House Lannister walked inside holding flags of House Lannister, followed by a man around his 40's. Ned didn't need to ask to know who the man was. The golden armour and the proud lion of House Lannister on his chest. Tywin Lannister. But Ned's heart skipped a bit when he saw his friend, Robert Baratheon, walking by his side with a proud look on his face, almost like everything was fine.

Ned wanted to ask where Princess Elia and her children were. But his worst nightmares came true when he saw two soldiers holding on their backs what looked like bags, but a closer look and he saw they were bodies covered with the flag of House Lannister.

Robert walked past Ned without glancing at him. He slowly walked to the throne and the corpse. He turned around and laughed.

"Show them to me", he ordered, his voice booming through the hall. Ned watched in horror as the guards dropped the bodies on the cold floor and slowly removed the Lannister flag. Ned felt sick, his breathing slowed, and he couldn't stop staring at them. In front of him was what looked like a little girl, but her body was covered everywhere in blood. Her face was barely recognisable. But the long dark hair showed that it was a girl.

Ned wanted to yell and curse; he started this war to help Lyanna and kill the king and not butcher innocent children. His eyes slowly looked at the second body. His head looked like a smashed fruit, his silver hair covered in blood.

He wanted to turn to Robert and tell him to execute whoever did and order this. But all that thought vanished when he heard him, Laughing.

He was laughing at what he was seeing, not looking disrupted or disgusted. He was laughing like someone just told the best joke in Westeros.

Ned wanted to yell and curse, but all the words had died in his throat. Robert kept laughing when he finally found his voice, and for the first time, he was furious with Robert.

"How can you laugh At THIS ROBERT, They're Children" he screamed at his friend. His voice was heard through the whole hall and corridor.

Robert stopped laughing and turned to look at Ned. His eyes grew furious, and not look shocked.

"I see no Children, only Dragonspawn", he yelled back and pointed the finger at the bodies.

Ned was sure he had heard him wrong; he felt sick. He felt like he would puke. His eyes turned to look at Robert again. Taking all the courage and honour he had left.

"You're not The Robert I knew. That Robert is Dead," he spoke with a firm tone, regretting nothing. He turned and walked away, leaving him alone to rot with the Lannisters.

We were friends. A long time ago, we were friends, and you spoiled everything: you didn't deserve Lyanna's affection, and you betrayed my trust. Many men won battles for you or died in your name! Now your selfish decisions sullied their reputation and mine.

He stormed out of the Great Hall, not bothered by Jon Arryn's reproachful gaze and sought refuge on a large balcony overlooking the gardens; this peaceful vision contrasted so much with the display of violence in the city and the crimson cloaks saturated by the children's blood it made him cringe. He didn't know for how long he stayed there, along with his guilt. As he clung to the guardrail and braced himself against it, he heard behind him brisk footsteps and recognised Howland. Perhaps the only person who understands my reaction.

Ned turned slightly, locked eyes with his friend, and gave him a poor smile: take it out on Howland would be the last thing to do. Howland took a few steps further, leaned his elbows on the guardrail but remained silent; there was nothing to say, even for the wise little man born in the Neck.

They contemplated the square flowerbeds, the ocher paths between neat hedges of box-tree, the gurgling marble fountains; all this scenery had been created so that the king could rest after hours spent inside the Red Keep attending ceremonies or ruling the realm, and under the soft, caressing sunbeams of the late afternoon, the gardens of the Red Keep reached their perfection. Yet, the acrid smell of smoke coming from the city's ashes found its way to their nostrils. Mayhap the stench was the same the day Father and Brandon died.

"Why are you always right?" Eddard asked Howland, and it sounded like blame.

The sun was coming down, setting fire to the greenery, turning the yellowish-brown alleys into copper: the intoxicating view abruptly reminded Ned of Howland's prediction.

"About the king's murder?" Howland replied. "I hated King Aerys for what he had done, but I wish things were different. He deserved a trial. And a proper execution, but afterwards. Besides, Ned, I've made mistakes. Many mistakes." He whispered the last part as he was talking about things he deeply regretted.

"What have we done?"

Eddard turned to his friend, trying to regain his composure despite the tears burning his eyelids. As usual, what he saw in Howland's gaze soothed him and gave him the comfort he needed. You can rely on me, the green eyes said.

"We're here for your sister," the Crannogman whispered. "I'll stay by your side until we find Lyanna. Then we'll ride back home: you'll join your brother in Winterfell, and I'll go back to the Neck."

Ned could seek solace in the prospect of seeing the high walls of Winterfell again; he nodded vehemently.

"Who are the Lannister men who killed the Dornish princess and her children?" he asked Howland.

Since their ride through the city, an idea had crept into his mind: the wall needed men and for some of the so-called knights who had killed people and raped women during the Sack, taking the black seemed appropriate. Perhaps too kind. Elia's murderers deserved the black, at the very least.

"They're both Lannister bannermen, knighted not long ago. A... Ser Amory Lorch and a man called Gregor Clegane. You can't miss this one. He's so tall and massive he earned an ominous nickname: the mountain. It was a slaughter, Ned. Amory Lorch stabbed Rhaegar's daughter so many times no servant could recognise her. And the Mountain..."

Howland stopped talking for a while, and Eddard regretted his question.

"He found Princess Elia with her son," Howland went on. "People say he took the baby, smashed his skull against a wall. She watched her son die, Ned, and she couldn't do anything. Then he raped her and killed her, but I don't know how, because I couldn't stomach it. You know, it's weird, because... I've fought battles with you, I've seen what they did to this city, but this... those details... I couldn't stomach it."

As Howland tried to collect himself, Eddard cursed in an undertone. They'll pay for these murders. He didn't know yet how to convince Robert, but the crimes would not go unpunished.

All of a sudden, a tall figure leapt out from the corridor leading to the Great Hall and almost ran into Howland before ending up at the opposite corner of the balcony where they stood; bending over the guardrail, the intruder vomited his last meal, then wiped away his mouth with the back of his hand and gave them a sheepish glance.

Now that he was standing up, Eddard could notice the boy's height – he had easily towered above Howland a few heartbeats before – his shoulders breadth, the crimson surcoat revealing he was a Lannister creature and the right side of his face. A squire. Gods, he's young, so young.

"Looks like someone didn't stomach it either," Howland commented in an undertone.

"He's a Lannister," Eddard flatly observed.

Ignoring his remark, Howland walked toward the Lannister squire.

"Are you alright, boy?"

"I-I'm fine. Thank you, my lord. I'm sorry for..."

Ashamed, he stopped short of going into humiliating details. To his great surprise, the boy's voice had not broken, which meant he was even younger than Eddard thought. The tiny, almost girlish voice contrasted with his grown-up stature and a kind of wildness his eyes exuded.

As the boy shifted from foot to foot, he finally caught a glimpse at the left side of his face and gasped. He had seen this boy in the Great Hall, somewhere behind the lords of the main houses of the Westerlands, but he was on the opposite side of the room at this moment, and the boy's dark hair partly hid his features.

The burns were so deep, so extended, and Ned didn't even know someone could survive them. From hairline to chin, the boy's left side was a mass of scars; the flesh was black by places, and Eddard sucked in deeply when he realised the ear had disappeared, leaving a hole his strands of hair barely concealed. He must have felt Eddard's eyes on him, for he briskly spun on his heels, only showing them the unburnt side of his face.

"It's a long way from the Westerlands," Howland went on.

"Aye, my lord."

"It was your first battle, right?"

"It was not a battle. It was a sack," the boy spat. His tone was full of contempt and disgust.

At least, there is one person in their damn host who acknowledges what happened here. The boy looked behind him, wondering if he should stay here with his liege lord's new allies or if he should go back to the Great Hall: his shoulders finally sank, and he didn't move.

A gust of wind made Howland shiver and brought the smell of smoke again. When Ned lifted his eyes, he discerned small things twirling in the air, like greyish snowflakes fluttering about for a while before landing on the balcony; the boy saw them too and extended his hand to touch them. A puzzled look on his face, he scrutinised the snowflakes that would not melt despite the warmth of his palm.

"Ashes," Eddard explained abruptly.

Howland and the boy turned to him, more surprised by his sudden attempt to break the silence than by his answer. The three of them stood there, watching the evening wind bringing more and more ashes on the dead king's perfect garden, dusting the bright flowers and the box tree with a greyish substance until the boy finally left them wordlessly.

"Do you know who he is?" Eddard asked Howland.

Whenever they met new people, Howland always managed to identify these persons and learn things about them before Ned; besides, he noticed that his friend had not asked the boy's name, as if he already knew. Howland locked eyes with him, slightly embarrassed.

"His name is Sandor Clegane," he answered with a hint of reluctance.

"Clegane? Like the man who raped and killed Elia of Dorne?"

Eddard's indignant tone made Howland shake his head. You don't understand, the green eyes said.

"He's the mountain's brother, yes. But you saw his reaction! He's young, very young: just try to imagine what he witnessed today."

"Come on, Howland... If he's the mountain's brother-"

"He hates his brother," Howland stated, with this solemn voice that roused suspicion and annoyance among the Northern lords.

"How do you know?"

"I've heard he ran away from home after his father's death," Howland replied, ignoring his question. "And there's more. After his son got his scars, Lord Clegane kept saying the boy's bedding had caught fire, but some people blamed Gregor. I thought it was idle gossip. Until what we saw today."

"He would have burnt his own kin? That's monstrous!" After a short silence, he added: "How did you learn all these details about a boy belonging to the Lannister host?" Eddard asked, frowning.

Folding his arms on his chest, he waited for Howland's response, almost sure he wouldn't appreciate it.

"I've talked with Gerion Lannister."

Cursing, Eddard pinched the bridge on his nose between his thumb and forefinger, then locked eyes with the Crannogman.

"A Lannister, Howland? Are you out of your mind?"

He suddenly didn't care if someone could hear their conversation; his distrust toward Lord Tywin was an open secret, as the origins of the boy's scars.

"Gerion Lannister is not like his brother!" Howland explained in an undertone, leaning toward him. "You can't just lump together all the members of the Lannister host. You can't lump together the Clegane brothers. Some might be monsters, but others disapprove like you partly disapprove Robert's decisions."

Dismayed, Eddard looked at Howland and understood his words could easily outrun his thoughts if they kept talking.

"I've heard enough," he said, shrugging. "I've seen enough today. So I'm going to... explore this castle until I find a place where I could sleep. A damn place where I'm alone, a place that doesn't remind me of the horrors that happened here. Don't know if such a place exists."

With that said, Ned walked away, his fingers pinching the bridge in his nose. With only one thought in his head now.

Where are you, Lyanna?

Arthur Dayne

He always saw himself as a strong man and a man of honour. But now, he felt weak. The guilt in his heart. He was sure he would have already jumped from a tower if it wasn't for his promise to Elia and Rhaegar. The news had spread everywhere of Rhaegar's fall in the Trident.

Arthur had shed tears for his friend and king. His king's guards and brothers took the news as bad as him, but the worst was for Princess Lyanna Stark. Her health has been worsened since the news came. Arthur had tried to remind her that she needed to be strong for her child, but nothing worked. She cried herself to sleep for many nights. And Arthur was concerned that this would lead to the death of her's and her child.

But the worst came when the bird arrived with news that Elia Martell and her children, Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, had been killed like they were pigs. Slaughtered, Princess Rhaenys had been stabbed a hundred times, Prince Aegon's skull had been crushed against the wall. And the worst, princess Elia was raped by the mountain with the blood of her children still on his hands. And then cut in half. The news of the king laughing at the corpses of dead children was spread quickly like wildfire.

Arthur knew he needed to be strong and not break down. He had his orders and would protect the last child of Rhaegar with his life if necessary. And keep his promise. He was looking at the reflection of his sword 'Dawn'. He looked at himself, he was then known as the best swordsman of Westeros, and yet, he wasn't able to protect anyone close to him. Elia was a friend he had known since he was five name days. He looked up at the horizon.

On the horizon, Arthur saw horse riders coming with the flag of House Stark, and the dire wolf could be seen. He knew Lord Eddard Stark must be one of them. He looked at his brothers, their eyes telling him that it was the time for the fight of their lives. Arthur took a deep breath and stood on his foot, as did his brothers. The three-headed dragon stood proudly on their armour. His sword 'Dawn' is on his right hand.

Arthur could feel the tension rising, and he knew Lyanna would give birth soon; if needed, he would die here to protect the true king.

The horses stopped twenty feet away from them. Lord Stark was the first to dismount his horse. He had a long sword tightened to his belt. Arthur was sure that it was 'Ice', the Valyria steel sword of House Stark. The man walked towards them with heavy steps.

As many in the realm believed, Arthur expected the lord to look at them with fury and hatred for 'kidnapping' lady Lyanna. But to his surprise, Lord Stark looked . . . Tired and his eyes were full of regret and sorrow. His men followed him and Arthur stabbed 'Dawn' in the ground, telling them not to get closer.

Lord Stark stopped walking, and his men were behind him; his eyes went to Ser Arthur.

"I expected to see you in the Trident", lord Eddard spoke, his voice strong and firm. He eyed each king's guard, almost like evaluating them. Behind him were five men. All five had a sword in their hands. But still, they were sweating from their face, and he wasn't sure if they were afraid or because of the sun shining high in the sky. Arthur had no problem with the hot temperatures. He was raised in Starfall, the castle of House Dayne in Dorne. And the hot temperatures were how every day to him was.

"Our prince wanted us here", Ser Arthur replied with an edge to his tone. His right hand slowly held Dawn's pommel more tightly. His left hand was resting on the pommel of his second sword. Ser Oswell and Ser Gerold eyed the men in front of them. Ready to cut them down.

Lord Stark's eyes glanced at the tower behind Arthur, and his eyes turned to look at Ser Arthur. His eyes showed pain.

"I want to see my sister. We're not here to fight," he said with a soft tone, almost begging him. Arthur wasn't sure if it was because of fear or maybe guilty of a broken promise. Ser Arthur clenched his teeth and was about to take a step forward when Ser Gerold raised his hand like he knew that Ser Arthur would strike.

"You want to see your sister. Very well, but Ser Arthur will stay close," he said with a warning. His voice was hard as steel.

Arthur wanted to protest, but looking at his commander, he held his tongue and kept quiet. He needed to think about his king and what was best for him. Lord Stark looked relieved; he looked back at his men and gave them a reassuring smile. One of them looked not to agree, but Lord Stark started walking towards the tower. Ser Arthur followed him, his sword drawn out and ready to cut him down. Lord Stark noticed this but kept quiet, and he was here to save his sister. And fighting the king's guard here would not help with that.

Everyone then heard a scream from the top of the tower. "Lyanna", Lord Stark screamed in horror and started running upstairs. Arthur followed him. He saw him bursting through the door. Ser Arthur walked inside but stopped when he recognised the smell of blood. Arthur's eyes went to the sheets covering her. They were covered in blood, and the scent of winter roses was in the air. Looking at her face, Arthur swallowed hard to hold down the tears. He didn't need a maester to know that it was over.

"Ned, is that you" her weak voice was heard as Lord Stark kneeled in front of her bed, holding her hand with his. "Yes, it is me, Lyanna", Lord Stark replied, looking at her.

"I'm sorry, Ned, it is all my fault," she said, tears in her eyes. Her face pale lost all colour; her lips had lost their colour and looked slightly darkened purple. Her red eyes from crying for days. "I want to live, Ned. I'm not brave," she said almost like a weak whisper as she was panting.

Ned shooked his head and kissed her forehead, and holding the tears in his eyes. "Is not your fault", he said with a weak tone.

He turned to the king's guard. "Give her some water", he begged them. His eyes held the sorrow he had felt for so long since his brother and father had died. He was trying hard to not break down in front of his sister.

She quickly put her other hand on his shoulder to stop the hopeless try to save her. "No, listen to me", she begged as her hands held no strength to hold his anymore.

Ned leaned closer, his heart feeling that this would be the last words of his sister.

"His name is Jaehaerys Targaryen. You have to protect him. Promise me, Ned, promise me," she begged as her breathing got slower. Her tears had stopped.

"I promise, Lya. Your child will be protected. And . . . And I will help him with everything he might need. You have my word," he promised with a serious tone but at the same time broken.

A wet nurse holding the king covered in white sheets moved close to Lord Stark and Princess Lyanna showing the child to them. Lyanna was able to look at her treasure, her eyes looking at his purple eyes. A weak smile spread on her face, and she murmured something as her chest stopped raising. The life in her eyes died like a candle.

Lord Stark moved her shoulders gently. As tears were rolling down his cheek, he was still holding her hand tightly, almost expecting her to wake up again. He started sobbing as his forehead touched hers.

Arthur didn't know what to say, and he knew Lady Lyanna. She was a girl with a gentle heart. And a good friend. Arthur swallowed hard and tried not to cry. Minutes passed, and the only thing that could be heard was Lord Stark mourning his sister. Everyone heard footsteps coming towards them. Ser Arthur looked behind him to see Ser Oswell and Ser Gerold followed by one of Stark's men.

"Ned, what happened?" The man asked, walking inside but stopped when he saw the sight before him. The words died in his throat. Ser Gerold's eyes went to the king who was sleeping on wet nurse's arms.

"Arthur, what should we do?" Ser Gerold asked and moving closer to the king.

Arthur found his voice and turned to look at his king.

"We will take him to Dorne. In sun's spear, he will be safe there," Arthur suggested, and Ser Gerold gave him a nod.

"In Dorne, how do you know that Prince Doran and prince Oberyn won't just kill him, for simply Existing" Lord Stark's voice was heard. His voice was high and strong. He slowly stood on his legs and glared at Ser Gerold.

"Prince Doran knows about the king. Elia had sent him a letter letting him know about Princess Lyanna," Ser Arthur replied with an edge to his tone. His hand tightened around the pommel of 'Dawn'.

"I will come with you then. I want to make sure my nephew is safe. I won't break this promise," Lord Stark stated as he was looking at the rightful King of Westeros.