Work Text:
283 AC
“... draw up a marriage contract if it pleases Your Grace.” Tywin Lannister leans over the table in the council chamber with a fox-like smile. The ground is beginning to burn beneath his feet, though looking at him one might think that it is Robert who is the supplicant here, counting on his favour.
Robert swirls the wine at the bottom of his goblet. He doesn’t answer Tywin, but the man doesn’t seem to need his input, as he continues talking about the dowry his daughter is to bring, the number of horses, gold, and everything else. He waxes lyrical about the benefits of such a marriage, and Robert finds himself more interested in the wine than in his promises.
The other members of the newly formed council chime in from time to time, nothing of importance, he is sure.
He drums his fingers on the arm of his chair. Ned should have been here a fortnight ago. No raven from him, nor a messenger arrived since he left King’s Landing. The last word of his whereabouts came from Stannis, who met him when Ned came to his aid, accepting the Tyrells’ surrender. Over four moons ago.
A king who does not condemn the murder of innocent children is no king of mine.
He holds out his hand with a goblet and a servant obediently fills it with wine. He drinks half of it in one gulp.
Damn it, he wasn’t going to send the man who had rid them of the Mad King to the Wall. Ned would have to see reason soon. It was his family who had suffered the most. His father and siblings. Was Robert so wrong for wanting to avenge them?
He dismissed Jaime Lannister, releasing him from the oath he had broken and ordering him to return to Casterly Rock, but Ned was not there to see it. The other two children of the mad king had managed to slip away from Dragonstone before Stannis reached it.
Had it been four moons ago, he would have saddled his horse and set out in search of him himself, even if he had to look for him in the very depths of the seven hells. But now he was the king, so all he could do was send messengers and ravens and sit in the bay window with a sulky expression, as if he were a fair maiden awaiting the return of her knight.
“Your Grace.” Stannis barges in unannounced, his golden coat fluttering behind him in time with his energetic strides.
Tywin seems very displeased that someone has deigned to interrupt his speech, though he skilfully hides his grimace behind a mask. Just for that, Robert is ready to kiss Stannis, and that in itself is a testament to how much he enjoys it.
“What is it, Brother?” He looks up at him, grateful for the respite. Truth be told, he would be glad to go count the turnips in the kitchens or watch the waves lapping against the rocks off the city’s shores rather than have to spend another quarter of an hour listening to the Lannister’s pestering.
“I bring news from the City Watch. Lord Eddard Stark has been spotted crossing the Lion Gate and is heading for the Red Keep-”
Robert jumps up from his chair and slaps him on the shoulder. “Marvellous news.”
“He’s not alone.” Stannis pauses, casting a fleeting, contemptuous glance at Tywin.
He had advised Robert not even to entertain the possibility of an alliance with the Lannisters, whose greed and avarice were sure to bring them down, but as usual he had been deaf to all advice that did not come from between someone’s thighs.
Now, he would listen.
*
Ned washes his face in a basin, watching the grime stain the water. He has spent almost two months on the road, making only brief stops. He intended to go straight to Winterfell, but a royal messenger caught up with him whilst he was staying at an inn two days’ ride from King’s Landing and has accompanied him ever since. Not that Eddard would dare to disregard the king’s summons.
Robert’s message was not at all long-winded; he had merely expressed his wish to see him, yet Ned had been on edge ever since the messenger, dressed in the livery of the Baratheons, stood before him.
His mind was flooded with the darkest scenarios, and by the time the city came into view on the horizon, he was convinced that as soon as they passed through the gate, he would be arrested and the boy would share the fate of his half-siblings, Aegon and Rhaenys.
He clutched the sleeping bundle to his chest as they approached the entrance, his heart pounding in his chest, but neither the soldiers patrolling the gate, nor those he encountered later made any attempt to take the child from him. They barely spared a glance at the wriggling babe in his arms, though curious glances were cast by the townspeople as he rode through the streets.
The door creaks and someone enters. Probably Wylla, Jon’s wet nurse, came back from the kitchens.
He finishes washing the dirt from his face and dries himself with a towel, catching his reflection in the polished silver mirror. He scratches his beard-covered cheek.
He has concocted a careful lie about Jon's mother and repeated it to himself during many sleepless nights, until at last he could tell it without stammering and with enough conviction that it seemed credible, even to his own ears.
He was going to tell it to Hoster Tully if he asked, though he doubted the man would care, as long as Ned was going to honour the arrangement they had made.
Robert, on the other hand, would not be satisfied with a few dismissive sentences, especially after what had happened between them. He had to come up with a more convincing story, or Jon was going to be lost.
Ned steps out from behind the screen and nearly collapses to the floor when he sees Robert holding baby Jon in his arms. He grabs the bedpost to steady himself.
“Your Grace.” He bows, not daring to meet his gaze.
Robert strokes Jon’s pink cheek with his finger and gently lays him back down in the cradle.
Ned forces his lungs to fill with air. His boy is safe, at least for a moment.
“I thought you were still sulking about what happened. You vanished for four moons, not even bothering to send a raven. Now you come back with a babe as if nothing happened.”
“I had business to attend to.”
“I can see that.” Robert moves closer to him, scrutinising him with his gaze. “It’s a shame you decided to keep it from me. Everything would have been so much easier if you’d told me the truth. Instead, I had to find out about it from Stannis of all people.” He shakes his head in annoyance. “They told me you were heading to the North. Were you planning to conceal the truth from me forever? Pretend he’s a bastard you had with some whore? Raise a prince of the realm hidden from the world inside Winterfell?”
Ned’s heart sinks to his stomach, a cold fist clenching around his ribs. He knows.
“I saw no other way. After what I witnessed on the floors of this very keep, can you blame me?”
He’s not sure what to tell him. He never imagined Jon would live this long after Robert discovered the truth. He expected him to shout, to call for the guards to seize him. This calmness is an unusual turn of events, something that makes him feel even more uneasy. The calm before the storm.
He flinches as a hand approaches his face, expecting a blow.
Instead, he is met with gentle fingers under his chin, urging him to look up. Robert’s gaze softens when their eyes meet.
“Do you think me so cruel that I would make you get rid of the child?” A genuine look of hurt flashes across his face, his blue eyes studying him intently.
Perhaps he was wrong.
“No, Robert.” He feels a surge of hope. Perhaps he will show Jon the mercy he denied his siblings, now that he has calmed down. “I thought it best not to tempt fate.” He grabs him by the forearm. “I can still take him to the North. Nobody has to know the truth. He won’t either. He will be no threat to you or your rule. I will make sure of that.”
Robert chuckles. “It was already too late for that the moment you crossed the city gates. If even Stannis has no shadow of a doubt whose child this is, I doubt anyone else would. Before nightfall, every beggar and whore will know the truth, or some twisted version of it.” He glances towards the cradle. “Jon. I don’t like this name. My son should have a proper Baratheon name, but since you took it upon yourself to name him as such, I have no choice but to accept that.”
Ned freezes. The seed of hope that had begun to bloom inside him withers. The blood drains from his face and he feels as though he is about to vomit. “Your son?”
Robert looks at him with indignation. “You don’t suppose I’ll let you live with him in disgrace, do you? We’ll say we wed before he was born, and Jon Arryn will be a witness to that. I am going to legitimize the little rascal, of course, so that no one can challenge his right to the throne, but there’s no reason for anyone to know the truth. He’s to sit on the Iron Throne one day; we can’t let anyone question his parentage.”
“No, we can’t.” Ned stammers, feeling light-headed. He wonders what he must have done that the gods punished him so. “I just- I thought I’d raise him without involving you in it. I heard the Lannisters have proposed your betrothal to Lady Cersei. They are a powerful ally and you need them now. You would do well to consider their proposal, and I don’t think they’d be pleased with a bastard kept at court.” He didn’t like the idea one bit, but he couldn’t put Jon at risk, no matter how much he’d rather stay here with Robert.
“Fuck Tywin and his damn betrothal. He’d wed his daughter to a pig if he saw a gain in it.” Robert frowns. “I will not abandon you and my son for his favour.”
“He’s not your son. He’s a bastard. Not your first, might I remind you, and he won’t be your last.”
Robert paces the room a few times before standing before him again.
“What is this really about? Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly taken an interest in politics. You don’t want to marry me?”
They were not betrothed, not officially at least. Robert had made his intentions clear, back before this madness began, but Ned was reluctant, and when Lyanna was kidnapped, when Brandon and Father were murdered, he promised to wed Catelyn in his brother’s stead.
Ned shakes his head vehemently. “No. I mean, I do. I would be glad to do so, but-”
“Then I don’t see what the problem is… unless the baby isn’t mine.” He looks towards the cradle as if trying to read from the sleeping infant’s face to whom it belongs. “Have you lay with another? I won’t hold it against you, if you did.” His clenched jaw seems to say otherwise.
“No.” Ned denies it, though if he’d been wiser, he’d have agreed and let Robert believe whatever he wanted. Unfortunately, he’s not the wisest man when it comes to Robert. “I have no desire to be with anyone but you.”
“Then stay with me.”
Ned averts his gaze.
“You promised me, Ned.” Robert cups his face, catching his gaze again.
“Promise me, Ned.” Lyanna’s weak voice echoes in his head.
Robert kisses his cheek, his brow, the corner of his mouth. “You said that if we survive, if we emerge victorious, you will be mine.” He whispers against his lips.
He did. Ned recalls the memory with shame. He should have been more resolute, but he was frightened by the impending battle and let his feelings get the better of his reason.
A few words whispered in the heat of the moment, between hasty kisses and stolen touches in the midst of a war camp. War was nothing like he had imagined it to be, and quite different from the songs and tales spun by storytellers.
“I am to wed Catelyn. Hoster Tully gave you his army for that promise.” He says after a long moment.
“You’d rather have the fish girl, then.” Robert snarls. “Is this what it’s all about? You want a cunt to fuck?”
“No.” Ned grimaces at his crude words. “Of course not, but my honour demands I do as I promised.”
Robert rolls his eyes, before getting serious again. “You are not the last Stark. Old Tully wants his daughter to wed the Lord of Winterfell and he cares not for anything else. Stay here, with me, be my King Consort and let Benjen have both.” He says earnestly.
Ned sighs, his resolve wavering.
Perhaps it really was the only choice he had left. If Robert thought the boy was his, he would not leave them alone anyway. If Jon was to be marked as his son, it was better for him to grow up in the Red Keep as a prince than in Winterfell as a bastard. Robert’s enemies were also lying in wait. If they sensed that Jon was important to him, it would put a target on his back.
Robert senses his hesitation and pulls him close, his strong arms embracing him. “I promise you, Ned, everything is going to change now,” he says against his temple.
Ned doesn’t answer, pressed against Robert. He glances at the baby sleeping soundly in a cradle.
He feels as if he’s dreaming, but whether it is a nightmare or not remains to be seen.
*
Westeros received the news of their secret wedding with moderate satisfaction. Of course, many probably doubted whether it had taken place before the child’s birth, but few were foolish enough to question it – openly.
Robert declared that he did not wish to expose Ned to the Mad King's wrath any further and news of their marriage would undoubtedly bring it upon him.
“Maybe I should put you forward as a suitor for Tywin’s daughter,” Robert teases his brother, whilst they break their fast in his solar. Ned had learnt it was best not to interfere in their bickering during the few weeks they had spent together at the Red Keep since his arrival. “She is a pretty woman, though her character leaves much to be desired. But I’ve heard that in marriage, common traits help build lasting relationships, so perhaps you two would get on well.”
Stannis fixes him with a blank stare, not deigning to reply.
Little Renly, sitting on his lap, reaches out towards the bowl of fruit on the table and grabs a peach.
“Cersei or not, you need an heir. I didn’t leave Storm’s End in your hands for you to sit on it and let it go to waste.”
“I have an heir.” Stannis wrinkles his nose as Renly hands him the half-eaten peach. He grabs it with a frown.
*
298 AC, 15 years later
The sun is blazing down from the sky, the square full of onlookers. Their voices carry across it, blending into an incomprehensible noise.
Sweat trickles down Ned’s neck and along his spine.
No. No. Arya is screaming and writhing in Robb’s arms, her pleas falling on deaf ears.
Little Edwyle cries, his high-pitched wails piercing the air.
The youngest children aren’t here; perhaps that’s for the best, though they probably wouldn’t have remembered any of it anyway.
Ned kneels on the platform, his knees protesting at the hardness of it, but he pays it no mind.
His gaze is fixed on Jon, his eyes staring at him in terror, tears streaming down his cheeks. Blood trickles from his split lip. Two guards hold him down with his head on the wooden block.
He looks at Robert, trying to plead with him for the boy’s life, but his husband stands straight with a stormy expression, his eyes on the statue of Baelor.
All dragonspaw must die, he told him before the soldiers dragged them from the Red Keep.
“In the name of Robert of House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I sentence Jon Snow, a bastard of the traitor Eddard Stark, to die,” says Gregor Clegane, a smile audible in his voice.
The sword falls.
Ned jerks up, almost hitting his head on the headboard.
Robert snores softly beside him, his dark hair scattered across the pillow. He can see his relaxed face in the light of the rising sun.
From outside the window comes the steady clatter and shouting.
He untangles himself from the damp sheets and walks to the window.
The crisp morning air brushes against his skin, giving him goosebumps. He welcomes it.
An execution platform is being erected in the yard. A group of slave traders caught red-handed a few weeks ago are to be hanged today.
Just a dream. It was just a dream.
He closes his eyes and rests his head against the cold stone wall.
A knock on the door snaps him out of his trance.
“Come,” he says, straightening up.
"Your Grace," a soldier bows, his face somber. "Jon Arryn is dead."
