[An hour's march from Riverrun]
The Journey had taken a fair bit longer than he had originally hoped, and yet, he could say that he had enjoyed himself during their trek through the Riverlands.
Be it the stories men told around the fire or just the general shenanigans that came with sharing a drink and delving deep into one's cups when surrounded by friends, the march north toward Riverrun had been largely enjoyable, a stark contrast to that of the marches they faced during the rebellion.
Yet, despite the almost laid-back manner of their march, the tension in the air continued to grow as they neared the ancestral seat of House Tully, Riverrun.
Ned couldn't shake the growing sense of unease he had when thinking about the awkward conversation he was bound to have with his lady wife Catelyn Tul- no, Stark now, he supposed.
Their marriage had already been one of convenience and duty and had even been rushed in a manner befitting a union made simply to gain an ally in a time of war.
Despite all of this, the lady in question, Catelyn Stark, now awaits him in her family's ancestral halls, and he alone has to be the one to tell her that the station of Lady of Winterfell does not await her.
And knowing the southerners and their unfavorable disposition to northern politics, Ned doubts his lady-wife would see the importance that comes with holding the ancient seat of Moat Cailin, especially given its status of being mostly in ruins.
'Those masons and workers Alaric enlisted the job too sure have their work cut out for them.' Ned thought as he rode his gray charger down the River Rode, the northern army now reduced to less than a quarter of its original size when they left King's Landing due to many of the northern lords and their men choosing the head for their homes instead of Riverrun, something he couldn't blame them for.
But Ned had no choice. His duty still called him south. Duty, an ever-present weight that sat squarely on his shoulders.
Behind him, the remainder of the northern contingent trudged onward, the pace slowing as the weary men began to feel the weight of the journey. The air grew cooler as the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the horizon in shades of red and gold. The sounds of hooves and wagon wheels on dirt faded into the background as his mind continued to churn, grappling with the realities of what awaited him at Riverrun.
The lords of the North, their voices echoing with banter, had slowly fallen behind, seeking to find a place to rest as the terrain grew more familiar to them. Ned knew that each step toward Riverrun brought them closer to the inevitable, closer to the uncomfortable discussion that would shape his marriage, and by extension, his future.
As they approached the outskirts of the castle, the air around them seemed to shift. The great Tully stronghold rose like a monument to power and pride, surrounded by its fertile lands and rushing waters. But beneath that imposing facade, the uneasy tension of the coming days lingered like an unspoken promise of difficulty.
Ned could only steel himself for the fury his lady-wife was no doubt going to rain down on him, not only for the fact she wouldn't be lady of Winterfell, but especially for the existence of 'his' bastard son, Jon Snow.
And then there was the matter of Alaric.
Ned could still see the curious, almost wistful look in the young boy's eyes when they parted ways at King's Landing. Alaric had barely spoken a word to him since, yet something had shifted between them. It was as though the boy had seen more than his years allowed, more than Ned was ready to admit. Alaric was wise beyond his age, and that wisdom made Ned uneasy. Not to mention, the boy had shown a certain familiarity with their family's past—particularly the past of House Stark and the fractured history of their northern bloodline.
Was Alaric growing more distant, or was it just Ned who felt himself closing off in response? In the quiet moments when he saw Alaric standing by the fireside or near the edge of the camp, Ned couldn't help but feel the boy's gaze linger on him, as if trying to pierce through the thick walls of his own doubts. What was Alaric really thinking? What did he know about his legacy as a Stark?
Ned shook his head, attempting to clear the swirling thoughts that kept creeping in. It wasn't Alaric's place to worry about his problems or, least of all, his marriage to a woman who he was sure to have a distant marriage with if they didn't find common ground. It wasn't the boy's concern.
"My lord," a voice called out, pulling him from his reverie. Ned turned to see Ser Rodrik Cassel approaching, his horse steady beneath him.
"How long do you reckon it will take us to reach Riverrun?" Rodrik asked, his tone low, yet respectful, a respect born from fighting alongside each other on the trident and throughout the rebellion.
"An hour, perhaps two," Ned replied with a glance back toward the remaining northern hosts. They were beginning to settle around a nearby grove, lighting their evening fires in preparation for the night. "After that, we'll camp near the river. No point rushing it."
"Fair enough, my lord," Rodrik said with a nod, "but if you don't mind me saying so, it might be worth taking a moment to prepare the men for the next stage of the journey. Riverrun isn't Winterfell. They'll want to know what to expect."
Ned nodded. "I'll speak to them soon enough."
As Ser Rodrik rode away, Ned felt the growing pressure of the impending arrival at Riverrun.
His thoughts drifted back to the North again, to Winterfell, to times gone by. Those warm nights around the fire with his family, his father ever the stoic man reading parchment after parchment while his mother, gods rest her soul, tended to him and his siblings antics, from Brandons boisterous demeanor, to Lyanna chasing Benjen with a critter she had found that day, oh hownhe missed the simpler times when they were still but kids, and with that, Ned drifted off into a deep sleep, dreaming of his family the entire night.
[The next day in Riverrun]
The northern host had finally arived at the gates of the Tully Castle, heralds annonced their arrival and with that, they entered.
As the northern retinue was entering the castle, down from the ramparts came Ned's lady-wife, Catelyn Tully, now stark, and following behind her were a handful of handmaids, one of which seemed to be carrying a small bundle.
"Husband, you've arrived. Thank the seven for your safe journey!" Catelyn said as she embraced him following his dismount from his stead.
As they embraced, he could tell from how she held him that she too was still unsure of their marriage and was more so putting on airs for the lords nearby.
"My lord, I present to you, your son and heir, Robb Stark," Catelyn exclaimed as the handmaid relinquished the bundle of furs into his arms, giving way to the face of a small child, a boy, with auburn hair and deep sapphire blue eyes.
Hearing the hushed grumbles behind him, Ned could tell that the same thought was going through all of the northern lords' heads, 'Not an ounce of Stark to be seen.'
Ned himself was ashamed to admit that he too had such a thought appear in his head; however, at the very same moment, that momentary sense of disappointment was replaced with love and awe at the small bundle of life that he had the privilege to call his son
After a few moment's more of staring into his son's deep blue eyes and relishing in his cries of childlike joy, Ned was brought back to reality when the Greatjon exclaimed, "Heir? bah, the boy is heir to nothing now; my nephew is the new Lord of Winterfell!" Greatjon exclaimed with a boom of laughter, almost taking joy in the look of confusion that spread across the faces of all the Riverlanders.
"Husband, what does the big oaf speak of? Surely he jests, right?" Catelyn asked, the slight hint of apprehension evident in her tone.
'SIgh, this is a conversation I wished to have later, but I guess now's as good a time as any,' Ned thought grimly, shooting the Greatjon an annoyed look, the latter laughing it off as he left to go find Alaric.
[Later that day in Riverrun's Solar]
The fire crackled in the hearth, the flames twisting and dancing, casting long shadows that stretched across the stone walls of the chamber. Eddard Stark stood still, his hands resting on the pommel of his sword as he gazed at the fire. The warmth of the flames did little to ease the chill that had settled in his bones.
A faint creak of the door told him she was coming. Catelyn. His wife. His stranger.
She stepped into the room with the grace of someone who had been raised in the halls of this castle, but there was nothing soft about her expression. Her eyes, blue like the deep seas, were sharp, assessing him the way a falcon might regard prey. She was waiting for him to speak, waiting for the words he had been trying to avoid.
Her voice broke the silence.
"Lord Stark." She regarded him, her tone of anger thinly veiled to the point of redundancey
Ned nodded absently; he had rehearsed what he was going to tell her many a time on the journey here, and yet, the words just would not come out easily. They hadn't since the moment he set foot on the banks of the Red Fork.
"I've never been one for speeches, my lady," he replied, but his voice lacked its usual strength. He felt smaller than usual, his northern blood freezing him in place.
Catelyn regarded him closely, her brow furrowing. "You look weary. The road has not been kind to you," she said, almost as if it was a comment in passing
"It has not," Ned admitted, his eyes drifting to the window. The Riverlands were beautiful, but the beauty seemed distant, as though the land itself had been scarred by the wars it had witnessed. He turned his gaze back to her, locking his eyes with hers. "I suppose I owe you an explanation?"
Looking him up and down, as if to find any cracks in his armor, Catelyn replied, "That you do."
Ned swallowed, a bitter taste in his mouth. He had known this moment would come, though he had hoped it would never be so. He reached into his cloak, pulling free the letter, a sealed parchment with the Stark seal, his hand steady only from years of practice.
The letter was one such copy of many that had been sent out toward the north following the reveal of Alaric's existence and his claim as the true heir to the North
"It's about Alaric," he said, his voice hoarse as he extended the letter toward her, regretting not telling her about who he truly was after she overheard a conversation between himself and Ser Rodrik Cassel.
Catelyn took the letter, her fingers brushing his as she did. She looked down at it, her face unreadable. "What about him?" she asked with a puzzled, almost annoyed look, something Ned was sure came from her thinking Alaric was Ser Rodrik's son, the sloppily crafted lie he came up with in a split second to avoid explaining to her about his existence following their wedding
"He is Brandon's son, Catelyn," Ned said quietly, his gaze falling to the floor. He couldn't bear to look at her now, not with the truth of it hanging in the air like a sword waiting to fall. "Alaric is Brandon's blood, his legitimate son. And that means... that means he is the true heir to Winterfell."
For a long moment, there was no sound save for the crackling fire, and then, slowly, Catelyn raised her eyes to meet his. Her expression was one of disbelief, as though she had not heard him correctly. Her voice, when it came, was barely a whisper.
"Brandon's son?" she repeated. "But you... you never told me this, Ned."
Her words cut deeper than he had expected. He had known she would be angry, but not like this. Not with the hurt that flickered in her eyes, the betrayal that welled up behind them, although only a short time, he had grown fond of Catelyn, and he would like to wish she felt the same, making this all that much harder to do.
"Father, he, well, he chose to keep his existence a secret, worried it would affect his poliking and all of the alliances he had carefully crafting using Brandon as a catalyst."
Catelyn stepped back, her hand tightening around the letter. "And so you kept him hidden from me? From everyone?" Her eyes burned with something between anger and hurt.
"But that's not all there is to tell, now is there?" She asked, her eyes burning into him
"Aye, there's more," he replied in a low, tired tone
Catelyn's brow furrowed, and her hand dropped to her side. "It's about the… Bastard, isn't it?" she said, almost spitting venom as a snake would when referring to Jon
Since their arrival, it would seem she had even learned of Jon's existence. 'Great. ' was all Ned could think before he began to speak
"He is not just a bastard, Catelyn. He is my son. In every way that matters. I shall raise him at Winterfell, or wherever we shall be. He was never meant to be cast aside." Ned told her, his tone resolute, leaving no room for objection
She looked at him as though she didn't recognize the man standing before her. The anger in her eyes flared. "A bastard? You plan to raise him as your own? Alongside our own children!"
"Aye, the boy shall be raised alongside his siblings. I refuse to cast him aside like he isn't of my own flesh and blood."
Catelyn just stood there, her icy stare cutting into him like a thousand blades.
He wanted to say something, anything to make her understand, but the words wouldn't come. He had known there would be pain, but he hadn't expected this. "I made a vow to protect him," he said at last, "to keep him safe."
The room seemed to close in on him. Catelyn's face, once so full of warmth, now seemed distant, unreadable. "And now?" she asked, her voice brittle. "What does all this mean for Robb? For our son?"
"Robb is my son," Ned said quickly, perhaps too quickly. "He will always be my son. But Alaric's claim to Winterfell... it is his by blood."
"However, Robb will not be left with nothing when he reaches majority, my nephew plans to use the gold he received from Robert to rebuild Moat Cailin. Although it isn't Winterfell, it remains an integral seat and part of the North." Ned calmly explained, trying to inch closer to Catelyn only for her to back away from his touch
Catelyn took a step back, her expression darkening. "So you are telling me that a stranger, a boy you have kept hidden from me, will one day sit in my son's place?" Her voice shook, and the pain was evident in every word. "And all my son shall have to look forward to inheriting is a broken down mess of ancient ruins!" she exclaimed before calming herself down
Hearing her words, Ned couldn't help but scoff at the notion of Alaric being a 'stranger' much less some perceived usurper, and he even felt a smidge of anger well up at her insults to Moat Cailin.
Instead of letting his anger get the better of him, however, ned took a deep breath, deciding to leave the conversation about Moat Cailin for later as to not invite any more ire for the night
"Alaric is not just a boy, Catelyn," Ned said softly. "He is Brandon's son. And Brandon's blood is as much a part of Winterfell as mine."
The silence that followed was heavy. Neither of them moved for a long time. Ned could feel the space between them grow, a gulf of doubt and confusion, and in that silence, he could almost hear the echoes of the past, of a time when things had been simpler, when he had known exactly what was expected of him.
Catelyn spoke at last, her voice a whisper. "I need time, Ned. Time to understand this."
Ned nodded, though it pained him to see her withdraw. "Take all the time you need, Catelyn. I will not press you. But know this: I shall never entertain any thoughts against my nephew; he is the future of the North, and I intend to be there to help raise and watch him grow."
Before she could leave the room, Ned grabbed her arm and said, "The same goes for Jon, he is my blood, and I shall raise him as such." he remarked as he let go of her arm, watching for any small hint of a remark or answer.
She didn't answer him. Instead, she turned away, the heavy cloak of silence falling between them once more.
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Authors Note:
Hey guys, I know it's been quite some time since the last chapter, and I apologize for that. These past months have been really hectic for myself and especially for my family, so I just wasn't able to find the time to sit down and write and when I did, I was overcome with intense writers block, but now ive gotten over that and im in a good spot in life where I can continue writng.
While I can't promise daily chapters, I hope to release at the very least once a week.