Third pov
The morning sun hung low over King's Landing, casting golden rays across the rooftops and the street below. From the high walls of the Red Keep, Stannis Baratheon stood rigid, his jaw set as he observed the city. The air carried the tang of salt from Blackwater Bay, mingling with the faint stink of the city. His hands rested behind his back, fingers clasped tightly, as he listened to Ser Bonifer, the newly appointed Commander of the City Watch, deliver his report.
"Your Grace," Ser Bonifer began, his voice respectful, "The preparations for the coronation are going smoothly. My men have the city under control, and order is maintained. This past moon alone, over five hundred men have expressed their desire to join the Stormguard. Their training has already begun."
Stannis nodded, his eyes never leaving the city as he asked, "And the guests?"
"Most have arrived, Your Grace. Lady Olenna Tyrell is among them, accompanied by her gooddaughter and lord Leyton Hightower. Lord Tyrion Lannister and Lady Cersei have also arrived. They've been quartered in Maegor's Holdfast, as you commanded."
"What about the Martells?" Stannis asked.
"They have arrived yet, your grace," Ser Bonifer answered.
"Interesting, will Doran himself arrive or his brother, Prince Oberyn?" Stannis thought as he glanced briefly at Ser Bonifer. "Fine, Ser Bonifer. You're dismissed."
Ser Bonifer bowed low, his yellow cloak catching the light before he turned and strode away. Stannis turned his gaze back to King's Landing, his eyes settling on the Great Sept of Baelor, the place where, come the morrow, his coronation would be held.
His thoughts churned. He had much to do today. He has to talk to two dangerous women, Olenna Tyrell nd Cersei Lannister.
"It will be interesting conversations," Stannis muttered to himself.
A voice broke his thoughts. "Your Grace," Roland called from behind. "Ser Boromund has returned from his mission."
Stannis turned, his expression sharpening as he saw Ser Roland standing beside Ser Boremund, one of the ten Stormguards he had sent with Eddard Stark to find Lyanna. Stannis had offered Ned men who knew the Dornish Marches, born and raised in its mountains, to aid the search. Ned had accepted. Now, Stannis turned, seeing Roland beside Boromund, tanned by the Dornish sun, who bowed low. "Your Grace,"
"Boremund," Stannis said, his voice taut with anticipation. "Tell me what happened."
"Your Grace," Boremund began, his tone measured, "we found Lyanna Stark. She was in a tower in the Dornish mountains, guarded by Lord Commander Gerold Hightower, Ser Oswell Whent, and Ser Arthur Dayne. They refused to yield or hand her over. Our archers made quick work of them. Ser Oswell and Ser Gerold are dead. Ser Arthur got gravely wounded, we took him prisoner and brought him to the city."
Stannis's eyes narrowed, weighing the victory. "Well done. And Lyanna Stark, what is her state?"
Borenmund pressed on, "Your Grace, when we breached the tower, Lyanna was there, pregnant and mourning. She seemed to know of her brother and father's fates. A few maids were with her, no others. She was days from giving birth. Lord Stark asked that we leave him alone with his sister, as he wished to speak with her in private. So we withdrew. Afterwards, Lord Stark told us that his sister could not be moved, as she was due to give birth any day. I offered to bring a maester and fresh supplies from the nearest Stormlander house. He agreed. We brought the measter and supplies from Nightsong. A few days passed, Lady Lyanna's labor began…"
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In a dimly lit chamber of Maegor's Holdfast, Ned Stark stood beside a cradle, his grey eyes fixed on two sleeping infants nestled close, their tiny hands entwined. They looked like twins, the only difference was that one had red hair and the other black. The room was heavy with silence, broken only by their soft breaths.
"Promise me, Ned," Lyanna's voice echoed in his mind, faint and desperate. He shook his head, trying to dispel the memory.
"My lord," came a gentle voice at his side. He turned to see a young, beautiful woman with red hair and blue eyes, Catelyn, once his brother's betrothed, now his wife, a stranger still. He met her on their wedding day, marched to war days later, and now, saw her again as she arrived in King's Landing for the new king's coronation with their newborn son.
"Didn't I tell you that you can call me Ned?" he said quietly.
"Ned," Catelyn replied, gesturing to a table laden with food, "I've had servants bring you a meal. Come, eat. Robb and Jaehaerys will be fine, don't worry."
Ned glanced at the table, then back to the cradle, his gaze lingering on Jaehaerys. "How can I not? He's but days old, frail, with no mother, no fat…" His voice broke, Rhaegar Targaryen's face flashing in his mind, the man whose lies had ensnared Lyanna and brought ruin to the Starks.
Catelyn stepped closer, her hand resting lightly on his shoulder. "But he'll have uncles, you and Benjen, who will love him, and Robb, who I'm sure will cherish him as a brother. For a bastard, he'll have a good life."
The word "bastard" struck Ned like a blade. His grey eyes turned cold as winter steel, locked onto Catelyn's.
"Never call him that again," he snapped, his voice a low growl.
Catelyn froze, her breath catching as she met his gaze. It was as if winter itself stared back at her, unyielding and fierce. She lowered her eyes, unable to hold his stare.
"I'm sorry, my lord. It won't happen again." She stepped back, her hands trembling slightly.
Ned turned to Jaehaerys, his thoughts in a storm. Bastard? No. Lyanna and Rhaegar were wed before a heart tree. Maybe it doesn't mean anything in the South, but to the North, to the old gods, marriage was real. Jaehaerys is no bastard. But he could not speak this truth aloud, not here, not now. It would endanger the boy, and Ned had sworn to protect him.
Stannis would not harm a child, Ned told himself. Catelyn had spoken of the tales that now spread across Westeros, how the new king had saved Princess Elia and her children from the hands of murderers. Yet Ned had spent years in the South, under the guidance of Lord Jon Arryn, a man both wise and seasoned in the ways of the realm. From him, Ned had learned a hard truth: power changes men. Especially the power that Iron Thorne helds.
Ned Stark's brooding thoughts were cut short by a sharp.
He rose slowly, his joints stiff from the long journey from Winterfell to King's Landing. As he opened the door, he was met by a young servant in Baratheon colors, standing with rigid formality.
The boy bowed quickly. "My lord, His Grace and the Hand await you in the small council chamber."
Ned gave a solemn nod. "Tell them I'll be there shortly."
The boy bowed again and left, his footsteps vanishing down the corridor.
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The small council chamber was lit by flickering torches, casting shadows on the stone walls. Ned Stark stepped inside, his boots heavy on the floor. Stannis Baratheon sat at the head of the long table, his face stern, eyes sharp as steel. Jon Arryn, older but steady, sat beside him. At Ned's entrance, both men rose.
Jon moved first, crossing the room to clasp Ned in a warm embrace. As they parted, Jon's voice was thick with sorrow. "Ned, I grieve for your sister. So young, so bright, she deserved better than such a tragic end."
The mention of Lyanna tightened Ned's throat, but he managed a grateful nod. "Thank you, Jon."
Stannis approached next, his presence commanding. Ned bowed. "Your Grace."
"Lord Stark," Stannis said, his tone measured but not unkind. "Lord Stark, I offer my condolences for your loss. I've heard much of your sister, it's a pity I never met her myself."
Ned nodded, forcing out another thanks.
Jon, seeing the pain in Ned's eyes, rested a hand on his shoulder. "Ned, you've endured much: the death of your brother, your father, and now your sister. Yet you must stand firm. The Stark name and the North now rest on you."
Stannis spoke up, his voice cutting through the moment. "I nearly forgot, congratulations on your son, Lord Stark. I saw him when Lady Catelyn arrived in the capital. A fine boy. She mentioned awaiting your choice of a name. Have you decided?"
Ned's face softened, a rare warmth breaking through his stoic mask at the thought of his son. "We named him today, Robb, Robb Stark, in honor of Robert."
Jon smiled broadly. "A fine name."
Stannis nodded in agreement. "Indeed. May he grow as strong as Robert was."
Stannis's tone shifted, becoming brisk. "Lord Stark, the reason I summoned you here is simple. Lord Arryn and I wish to know. What do you intend to do with him?"
Ned's jaw tightened, but he answered without hesitation. "Jaehaerys will return to Winterfell with me. He will live with his family, where he belongs. You have my word that he will not trouble you. I swear it."
Stannis nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I've no issue with that. A boy shouldn't be torn from his kin." He paused, glancing at Jon, then continued. "I told Lord Arryn, and I'll offer you now, if you agree, I can legitimize him as Stark."
Ned's eyes widened, caught off guard by the offer. He hadn't considered such a possibility. After a moment, he bowed his head. "I'd be grateful for that, Your Grace."
Stannis gave a faint smile, rare for him. "No need for gratitude," Stannis replied. "It's not the boy's fault how he was born."
He continued, his tone brisk. "As for the Master of Ships, I asked you before you left King's Landing to propose a candidate. Have you decided?"
Ned nodded. "Aye. Wyman Manderly, Lord of White Harbor. The Manderlys are loyal Stark vassals, and their port is the North's only one. He's the man for the role."
Jon Arryn's approval was immediate. "An excellent decision," he said, glancing at Stannis, who nodded in agreement. Jon continued, "You may go now, Ned, rest, we will talk later. The journey must have wearied you."
Ned turned to leave, but a thought halted him. He faced Stannis again.
"What of Ser Arthur Dayne?"
"The Wall or Death. Choose as you wish, I care not which." Stannis answered him with a straight face as he thought, "I needed only his sword, which I have now."
Ned's mind flashed to Ashara Dayne, Arthur's sister. He'd promised to wed her once, a vow he'd broken. He wanted Arthur dead, but the thought of adding her brother's execution to his broken vow gnawed at him. Ashara's tear-streaked face rose uninvited in his mind, her violet eyes piercing his heart.
At last, he decided. "The Wall will suffice, Your Grace. With your leave, I'll take my rest now." Stannis granted it with a curt nod, and Ned departed.