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It began when they were both in the Eyire.
They had always been close. The second son of the Lord of Winterfell and the eldest son of the Lord of the Stormlands. Both fostering under the sonless Lord of the Vale. Playing together in the stone guardians. Quietly waiting for Lord Arryn to finish his duties. Training together under the Master of Arms, Eddard with his sword and Robert with his great hammers. Close as brothers, the guards said. But even as a boy that had never felt right to Robert. And as they grew into manhood, it quickly became apparent that things were not brotherly between them.
The girls of the castle found him mightily handsome, Robert knew that. He saw their glances and their swoons and blushes and all of that. What befuddled him was that they did not give Eddard the same attention. He was tall and strong and a good man, always courteous and unfailingly honorable. At times Robert wished he had Ned’s strength of character. Yes Ned had a long face, as the girls complained about. But had they never seen it drenched in sweat after a good spar? Yes he was a bit thin, but they hadn't ever seen his arms up close and personal. How strong they were despite the thinness. And yes he frowned a lot. But that just made the rare smiles that much brighter. Seven above, Ned's smile was beautiful.
As he grew there were certain thing expected of him, as Lord of the Stormlands, as he now was with the death of his parents. There were the official matters, the dreadful tedium of taxes and diplomacy. Things such as combat at which he excelled, having won several melees and earned his knighthood. And there were other, less formal matters. A good lord had to lead by example, bring merriment and peace between his bannermen. Show a certain amount of vigor to keep their respect.
Holding great feasts was the most fun. Meat laid before you. Flagons of ale and wine to drink. Good music. A good jester if you were truly lucky. True it was sometimes hard to get Ned in on the fun, but Robert supposed he enjoyed enough for the two of them. Many of the men also enjoyed female company, typically pretty serving girls or whores of some sort. Given his fondness for hunting and fighting and wine, many seemed to expect him to partake in them. But he never did. He was betrothed to Ned’s Sister after all.
He worried about that sometimes, having a wife. Attending to her needs. Bedding her. He hoped it wouldn’t be a problem. If Lyanna was half as fine a woman as Eddard was a man, there should be no problem. Hopefully. Probably.
One winter’s night, as the Arryn Court held a feast for the Knighthood of some lord king or another, Robert got drunk. Drunker than he normally got. The knight in question had been in charge of the wine watering at feasts when he was a squire and his replacement had not been up to the task. Fortified with courage from his drink he resolved that he would be a maid no longer, and stumbled off towards the nearest whorehouse. They recognized him there, and paraded all sorts of girls before him. Most of them were fairly pretty. But none really caught his eye, which admittedly, was rather wobbly from the wine. Some of the girls asked him what he wanted and, his tongue loosened, he sputtered out Ned Stark’s name. Some gave him odd looks but some men were brought forth, who proved much more to his liking. Although the next morning he woke up with a headache and a deep hole his heart.
…
The Seven speak ill of sword swallowers, Ned knows. Septon Willem has apparently given several sermons to that effect in the castle Sept, perhaps having heard the rumor. Ned is not there of course. His are the old gods, and Jon Arryn has never attempted to force him down many other path.
Of course, the Old Gods forbid men to lay with men as well. At least, it was certainly seen that way in the North. He had heard people sneer at rumors about some Umber or another, or a petty lordling being caught with a tavern keeper. The North was no place for perversion, Old Gods or New.
But it gave Ned some comfort to know that there was no book or Septon telling him that. No official representative of the gods. The First Men followed the gods of stream and forest, listening with their heart.
And his heart led him towards Robert.
It was a terrifying experience, drifting towards each other. Feeling a deep passion, a deep love for the young Lord, for his closest companion. Yet the fear, fear that Robert would not return the feelings. Fear that Robert would reject him. Humiliate him. Expose him.
But, in a happy coincidence, this was not the case. In fact it seemed that Robert shared his affections. And so began their affair.
It was not terribly different from merely being friends with Robert. He was still dragged into taverns to drink and be merry. Combat training still took up far more time than he thought necessary. He still worked with Lord Arryn to make sure Robert actually handled any business that required his attention as Lord Paramount.
But there were other pleasures now. The thrill of Robert’s embrace was different now, somehow better than it was before. Robert opened up more, rambling with stories of the Great Keep at Storm’s End, even stories of his parents. Ned in turn could tell him of Winterfell and his siblings, although that carried with it a pang of guilt.
He was dishonoring Lyanna, he knew that. Carrying on with the man she was to marry. Robert’s behavior was unseemly, but to do it with his betrothed’s own brother? As far as Ned knew that was unprecedented. Were he truly as honorable as he liked to think, Eddard would end this foolishness.
He could not bring himself to do so. He could bring himself to stop the kisses. Or the late nights when they retired to one of their bed chamber’s and pleasured each other. Robert could be demanding, but also surprisingly charming and attentive at times.
There were rumors, of course, about them. The core of the rumors were true, Ned knew. But some of them were utterly ridiculous. No, they had not done something on the winch that brought up food. And no, Ned was not secretly a maid dressed as a man.
Lord Arryn had heard the rumors, of course. And knowing him, the canny old Lord of the Vale had discerned the truth of the matter. Lord Arryn however, had made no moves to separate them from one another, or tell their families. Indeed the only indication he gave was a stern lecture about how producing heirs was a duty to be fulfilled even if it was not a pleasure. Ned had nodded solemnly, while Robert growled uncomfortably.
Ned did not know if Arryn had sympathy for them as a result of past experiences, or merely the affections of a father towards the boys who might as well be his sons. He never asks and Arryn never answers.
It could not last. It could never last. Robert would need to marry Lyanna and rule Storm’s End. Eddard must return north eventually, likely to wed someday himself. But that all lies in the future.
So for now Ned enjoys the pleasures of young love.
…
Lyanna Stark is fine enough, Robert supposes. Long, dark hair, and pretty for a woman.
They talk, awkwardly at first. The Tourney at Harrenhal is a grand affair. The King is there, the first time he's left the Red Keep in years. The Crown Prince is also there. It is such a grand affair there is even time to talk privately. Well somewhat privately. There is only so much privacy a betrothed couple can get. Still, they can talk without any interruptions, if not without any ears of servants serving as chaperones.
"You are different than I expected," She admits.
"Really?" Asks Robert, somewhat surprised. Ned wrote to her often, surely he had said something of Robert. And also… "We have met before."
"Yes," She says, turning her head slightly. "And you haven't changed much. But every time I see you it surprises me. You are so different than Ned says you are."
"Really?"
"Yes, really," She says lightly. "Ned always describes you as big and active and full of life. A man of appetites. But whenever we speak you are, well you are not meek exactly, but you are perhaps a bit nervous, and quiet, contemplative."
Contemplative? He was generally trying the opposite, to avoid contemplating their impending marriage and life together.
"Am I?" He asks, shifting his feet slightly. They await the others before going to see the lists. A servant stands near them, to preserve her honor. Robert wishes he could explain that it was not necessary so that he could more freely explain matters to this girl. But the whole point of sending the servant away would be so they don't go spreading rumors.
Lyanna gives a smile that is somehow also a frown.
"This is the part where you say you are entranced by my beauty," She says, and Robert cannot tell if her reproach is mocking or genuine.
"I uh, am entranced by your beauty," Robert replies stiffly
"Oh never mind, the moment has passed," She huffs, with a wave of her hand.
"My…apologies?" Robert asks more than says. Gods damn it. Talking with Ned is never this hard. Bloody women.
"So," Lyanna says with a firmness that clearly establishes she is changing the subject. "What is Storm's End like?"
"Large and dark," Robert says and Lyanna gives him a look. He shrugs. "I know it seems simple but I would bet every Mountain of the Vale that will be what you first gaze upon it. A huge, thick, curtain wall and a Great Barrel tower. When the storms come it booms. Like there are two thunders, not just the one. It is a vast space."
"Sounds imposing, and more than a little bit gloomy."
"Aye it can be that," Robert admits. “But also beautiful. And full of life with the right lady.”
“I…” Lyanna pauses. “I shall be far from home. With little of my own. I fear, at first, I shall be rather homesick."
A sudden, foolish impulse strikes Robert. But he follows it anyway, as Baratheons are wont to do.
"Perhaps not," He blurts out. "I mean, Ned, I mean Eddard, I mean your brother. He has been a good and loyal friend to me all my life. I know him better than most of my bannermen, and trust him more than all of them. He might stay at Storm's End, if it pleases you."
Lyanna glances over and frowns. Does she know? Does she suspect? Has Ned been open or closed in his letters?
"Father intends to marry Ned off and give him some land in the North, not send him off to be a household knight in a faraway Kingdom," She says.
"House Baratheon has bountiful lands," Robert gasps. "I would be pleased to raise him a keep and grant him lands of his own. Let the ties between Winterfell grow deep."
"And the wife?"
Bugger. The wife. Ned and a Woman. Not him. He lets out a growl that rather startles Lyanna. Fuck. He's been silent too long. Fuck. He needs to say something.
"I, well, there are many fine women in the South," He finishes rather lamely.
"I see," She says. Her eyes are not meeting Robert's. "Forgive me my lord. But I must go find my brother, Benjen I mean. He might have gotten lost."
She leaves awkwardly.
…
The problem with Catelyn Tully, Ned reflects, is not so much that she is a woman but that she is not Robert.
She is appealing in her own way. Fairly tall, high cheekbones, beautiful red hair. She is no trouble to look at. He could easily imagine himself, in another life, enjoying laying with her, and coming to love her.
However, in this life, their first meeting was awkward and brief. As was their wedding. As was their bedding and first night together. He had managed to do his duty, but little more.
Part of the problem was Brandon, and they both knew it. Catelyn was betrothed to Brandon for years, not Eddard. Brandon was the one who had written to her, met her, cherished her. He was simply Brandon’s younger brother. A footnote if anything. No wonder she was unenthused. And for his part, it felt wrong, like he was taking what should have been his brother’s. Ned had felt like that when he had arrived in Winterfell, when he had raised his banners and as he led his army South.
The silent wall of Brandon stands between them, and they both know it.
But the silent, yet still living, wall of Robert also stands between them, and only Ned knows it.
He had always known they were going to have to marry others. Two men did not get married. It was an absurd statement, like the sun shining at night. Yet they had been so close, so happy together, it felt a betrayal to sleep with another. They had made no promises, sworn no oaths before gods and men, for what gods and what men would ever hear such oaths? But still, it felt wrong to just leave Robert this way.
It hurt especially because Robert was doing so much, risking so much, on Ned’s account. When word of Lyanna’s disappearance had arrived Robert had, well Robert had not exactly been gleeful. But he had certainly not been disappointed to no longer have a betrothed. The most wroth he had gotten had been to grumble that ‘to hurt a lady is wrong,’ but he had left it at that.
Robert had been more angry for Ned’s sake than anything, and had sworn mightily when he heard of the King’s madness, to say nothing of the demands for his head.
Robert was fighting because the King wanted him dead, and Robert did not want to be dead. Robert was fighting because Robert loved a good fight. And Robert was fighting because he loved Eddard Stark, and Eddard Stark was fighting for his family.
But the songs have it that Robert is fighting for Lyanna, and Ned knows that the songs, in this case at least, are playing falsely.
When wiley Hoster Tully had cleverly trapped Ned and Jon into marrying Catelyn and Lysa there had been so little time, Ned had been only able to dash off a quick letter by raven to Robert, trying to explain the situation.
It was complicated by the fact that the nature of their relationship could not be expressed openly in the best of times, and the needs of war made Ned even more resistant to give any hint of the true matter.
The result was an awkward, stilted letter that Eddard knew would do nothing to calm Robert’s fury when he read it. With any luck it would arrive before a battle and Robert could use the anger. Or perhaps that would just make him reckless and thus place him in more danger. Ned frowned. That wasn’t good either.
The reports from the South are…messy. Tales of victory and defeat. Triumph and tragedy. Robert slain. Rhaegar slain. Storm’s End besieged, Highgarden burned. But as best Ned could tell, Robert had won a great victory at Summerhall, or maybe three, but had lost at Ashford. Although he was still alive. Probably. Hopefully.
When he had been younger the songs of women worrying as their men went out to war had never really been his favorite. Robert had laughed openly at such songs. Yet now he understands them well. He hopes Robert does as well. He hopes Robert still worries despite the quarrel that is inevitable now.
He hopes Robert does not hate them for this. He hopes Catelyn does not hate him for this. He hopes he survives this war. He hopes Lyanna emerges safe and unharmed.
Eddard Stark hopes and he hopes and he hopes.
But he struggles to let himself pray.
…
Robert stares grimly down at the children. Or perhaps more accurately what was once children. The babe, Aegon, is scarcely ever recognizable as a human being. Smashed against a wall they said. Rhaenys, at least, is clearly the Princess. With a few stabs in her chest. They have not brought the body of Elia Martell into the throne room. Small mercies perhaps.
Robert's arse is sore, and not in the good way it is after a good ride or night in bed. This damn throne was prickly and pointy. Apparently centuries of Dragonspawn sitting on it haven't dulled it in the slightest. Still, at the moment he is grateful for the pain, it distracts him from the bodies in front of him. He has seen plenty of blood in this damn war. Seven hills, he'd caved in the head of these children's father in the waters of the trident. But this was still disturbing.
"Who did this?" He rumbles, staring down at the Lannister host before him.
"That remains unknown, Your Grace," Tywin Lannister says smoothly. "All I can say is that these potential claimants to the throne are no longer a threat to your rule."
Ha! Like a babe could lead an army against him. Hells, let the boy be king. He could go off sell swording or something. It was better than the paperwork and counting coppers that apparently came with being king. Still, he did not like being lied to.
"Lannister, you present me with these murdered babes wrapped in your banner, and you claim not to know who did the deed?" Robert says. "You expect me to believe that you took this city in my name, that your son killed the Mad King, but that you merely stumbled upon the dead bodies of the Princesses and Prince?"
"Your Grace…" Tywin begins, narrowing his eyes. "Perhaps a more private venue?"
"Later," Robert says with a wave of his royal hand. "Perhaps Lord Varys may be able to assist you. We already have let one killer of royalty go free on your behalf. Our enemies should not think it a habit."
He looks over the room. The Lannister men seem furious. He'll need to let Jon figure that out. Various other courtiers, likely enemies of the Old Lion, seem to approve. The vast majority still seem in shock for the gruesome display.
But Robert looks only for one face.
Ned bears a look of grim finality on his face. Which isn't terribly different from his grim despair. Or grim melancholy. But Robert can tell his moods, even when they are quarreling.
And they have been quarrelling for some time now.
Robert had been filled with rage when he had heard the news that Ned had been married to that Tully bitch as he slunk towards Stony Sept. And that damned letter had not helped the matter. It had taken desperate pleading to keep him from trying to fight the entire Royal Army alone in the Stony Sept. When he had stepped out of the brothel is had been liberation. Some of it to get away from the very handsy shores, but more to unleash his fury in the heat of battle.
When he had reunited with Ned his anger had faded, just for a night, laying together in a tent as they headed north. But by morning Ned had slipped away, ridden with guilt over betraying Tully. As if he owed nothing to Robert. And Robert's rage had returned. They did not wrestle as they had when they were young. Robert could not bear the thought of hurting him. Instead they jjsg shouted.
They'd spent much of the rest of the campaign arguing over everything. Supplies. Routes to take. Where to place the Northmen on the line. Jon tried to bring peace, familiar as he was with them both. But this was beyond the boyish arguments that had fought in the Vale. Certainly it did not seem to impress Hoster Tully, although Robert had likely not helped the matter when he squeezed the man's arm so hard it bruised. He did not regret it though. He should think twice before marrying his daughters.
The day of the Trident he had nearly refused to fight. The plan to make him, who barely had anything to do with this rebellion, King was bad enough. But then he had gotten word that Catelyn Tully was pregnant and he'd gone into a sulk. It was only when Ned and shamed him and declared he was leading the vanguard himself that Robert had gone, to keep the beautiful idiot from getting himself killed.
But even that had not completely smoothed over the quarrel. Ned had wanted harsher treatment for the Kingslayer, Robert had kept him in the Kingsguard more out of spite than anything else. They had kissed several times, in private of course, and there was something thrilling about being King while doing it. But they had gone no further. Ned was guilty about betraying his wife for Robert and guilty about betraying Robert for his wife.
Robert just wishes he could make up his mind.
Oh bugger. Ned is talking and Robert hasn't even been listening.
"-I seek leave to raise the siege at your seat of Storm's End, then search for my sister Lyanna." Ned concludes.
Oh right. His betrothed. What does Ned want? To have Lyanna replace him in Robert's bed? He growls.
"Go," He mutters, with a dismissive wave.
He never can quite deny Ned anything
…
Ned looks down at the baby Jon, named for the only father he had who still lived. There had been another name as well, one that he would do his best to forget. The bedroom was dim and small, but fairly secure in the Red Keep. Although…Jon’s half brother had once seemed safe here as well. The cradle was rickety, having been hastily provided by some very judgemental servants. Or perhaps his nervousness was just making him paranoid about judgement.
Father was gone. Brandon was gone. And now Lyanna is gone. And now all that remains is Benjen and this babe. The once flowering House Stark cut down. Winter Is Coming? Winter has already come for Ned. Catelyn had borne him a son yes, perhaps that would lift his spirits. But then, she would think him unfaithful, arriving with such a child. Which he was, but not on this occasion. The child would bear the punishment Ned himself should bear. His guilt deepens. Perhaps it would have been better to take Howland’s offer and send the boy off to Greywater Watch. But no, he must keep his blood close, even if it further stains his honor.
A great knock at the door. Ned starts.
“Who calls?” He asks.
“Your King,” Robert says back in a sad, tired voice. “I’ve sent the guards to the end of the hall. I have the keys. Please let me in.”
Did he know? Had he come to hurt Jon? But then he would have been angrier, Ned thinks. Slowly he stands from his bed and walks to the door. Sighing, he opens it. Robert steps inside and closes it, before spreading his arms wide.
Despite himself, Ned throws himself into that familiar, bountiful embrace. Robert is different now, more perfume, finer clothes, and a King. The crown atop his head is a contact reminder. But for now he remains Robert, just as he has always been for Ned. Burying his face into Robert’s chest, the Lord of Winterfell begins to sob for what he has lost once more.
Robert hugs Ned comfortably as he cries, gently stroking his hair.
“I am sorry,” Robert says softly. “I am so sorry. She deserved better. Better than me, but much better than that bastard and what happened to her.”
Ned grips Robert tightly.
“I…perhaps I judged you unfairly for marrying,” Robert admits uneasily. “You did it all for your sister. And besides, I am about to make you a cuckold as well. It seems I am to marry Cersei Lannister.”
His voice takes on a vaguely disgusted quality, annoyed at the prospect of marrying. Distantly, Ned realizes that a Lannister match could be very dangerous to Robert, but he is too wrapped up in his own problems to say anything.
“I would have you stay,” Robert whispers. “Stay here with me and help me rule, with Jon as our mentor. As it was always meant to be. You are a lawful, dutiful man, and would make a fine Master of Laws. So long as you do not insist on performing every punishment yourself.”
Jon? No Jon needed to be as far away from here as possible. Away from the vipers. Away from the plots and traps. Away from the eyes and ears and murderers. Away from the thrones.
“No,” he gasps out. He needs some excuse beyond the truth. But he cannot bring himself to lie. So he tells a different, lesser truth. “I am sorry Robert, I truly am. But I have been away from the North for many years, and now I am Lord. I must go, and, well…with both of our marriages.”
“Ah yes,” Robert says sourly, but not angrily. “You’re Catelyn would not take kindly to such matters. Nor, I suspect, will Cersei Lannister. And there are more eyes in King’s Landing than there were in the Vale.”
“Thank you, for everything,” Ned whispers.
And then Jon begins to cry. Ned freezes.
“Ah yes,” Robert says gravely. “We have some Snow in the room, I have heard.”
Releasing Ned from his grasp, Robert walks over and looks down at the cradle. He has a sad look on his face. Ned scrambles after him, terrified.
“There are rumors Ashara Dayne is the mother,” Robert says softly. “And I did see how you looked at her at that damned tourney. But then others say Dayne killed herself after she lost a child. What is the truth?”
“A..a nursemaid named Wylla, your grace,” Ned lies. “Of the Smallfolk of Dorne.”
“Do not lie to me Eddard,” Robert growls as Jon cries softly.
“Your grace-” Ned says, slightly shocked. Robert so rarely calls him by his true name. What does he suspect? Not the truth, surely. Hopefully.
“Your grace this, your grace that. Do you know how sick of those two words I have gotten in the short time I’ve been on the bloody throne?” Robert interrupts. “I ask you not as your King, but as Robert Baratheon, the man who you loved once. And who still loves you. Who is the mother?”
“Wylla,” Ned lies again. “I swear-”
“DAMNIT NED!” Robert roars, sending Jon into further tears. The guards down the hall can probably hear the baby crying, but little else. “Do you think me a fool? You could barely bring yourself to lay with your lawful wife for the love of me, and you could barely bring yourself to lay with me for the duty for your lawful wife! And you expect me to believe that you would forget both of us for some Dornish whore?”
Eddard Stark sits in stunned silence.
“I mean, the boy looks like you, I’ll give him that,” Robert continues, looking down at Jon. “But I could hardly believe that you would father a bastard. Brandon? Perhaps, but with Dayne dead, who else? And I know little of Benjen but he has been in the North this whole time. And that leaves no one else, so then who was the mother? But wait…there is another…”
A terrible silence pours over the small bedroom. Even Jon ceases to cry, apparently realizing the enormity of the situation. Ned’s heart freezes.
“Seven hells,” gasps Robert. “It was-”
Ned slams a hand over Robert’s mouth. He is vaguely aware that this would be worthy of a death sentence. But he cannot allow the truth to be said aloud. That would make it all the harder to keep a secret.
“Robert,” Ned begs, as he lowers his hand. “The walls have ears here. And if the truth got out…”
“It would make us buggering each other seem like a minor thing,” Robert says, thankfully getting Ned’s point. “Seven hells Ned, this is a risk you are taking.”
Robert takes off his golden crown and sets it beside Jon.
“I would you know,” Robert says. “It would be a bloody mess, but if you two stayed here we could make it work.”
It takes a minute to see what Robert is implying, but Ned is instantly repulsed. The rebels would be appalled at the betrayal. The Lannisters furious as well. Highgarden has no ties, and Dorne would never bear the reminder of Elia’s dishonor.
“No,” Ned says. “I shall go North with him. Safely away from the dangers of the court.”
“Very well,” Robert says, pulling Ned for another, gentler embrace. He gives a chaste kiss on the forehead. “Fear not, I shall defend him as best I can.”