Chapter 4

Ned Stark sat in the room provided to him at Riverrun, the weight of the day's events pressing heavily upon his shoulders. The flickering candlelight cast shadows on the stone walls, creating an atmosphere of solemn reflection. After a month of hard riding, the Northern camp had finally arrived at Riverrun. They would be staying here under the hospitality of Lord Hoster Tully, his goodfather. The journey had been grueling, and the respite offered by Riverrun was a welcome relief.

His thoughts drifted to his reunion with his wife, Catelyn. Their meeting had been sweet, a brief respite from the chaos of war. She had introduced him to Robb, their firstborn son. Ned's heart had swelled with pride and love as he held his son for the first time, marveling at the tiny life they had created. The warmth of family, the joy of new life—it was a balm to his weary soul.

However, the sweetness of the reunion quickly soured when Ned introduced her to Cregan Stark, son of Brandon and Ashara, Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North. Catelyn's expression had shifted from warmth to shock, and then to a tight-lipped dismay. 

Catelyn, who had been betrothed to Brandon before his death, was not happy to learn of his secret marriage to Ashara. The revelation of Brandon's hidden union with the Dornish lady was a bitter pill to swallow. She had grieved for Brandon, honored his memory, and now, to discover that he had married another in secret—it was a betrayal that cut deep.

"Ned," she had said, her voice strained, "why did no one tell me? I mourned him, and now this..." Her words trailed off, the hurt evident in her eyes.

Ned had tried to explain, to soothe her wounded pride and heart. "Cat, it was a different time, a different world. Brandon did what he thought was right, and Ashara... she was there for him in ways we may never understand. They loved each other."

But the words had done little to ease her pain. The knowledge that she had been kept in the dark, that her betrothed had harbored such a significant secret, was a blow to her sense of trust and security. She had looked at Cregan, a child bearing the Stark name, a living reminder of Brandon's secret life, and her resentment had been palpable.

Catelyn had always prided herself on being a loyal and dutiful woman, a protector of her family's honor. This revelation felt like a stain, a shadow on the memory of the man she had once been promised to.

The worst moment had come when Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun and Warden of the Riverlands, who had hoped to see his blood rule both the North and the Riverlands, had all but demanded that Cregan be named a bastard. There was no proof, he claimed, of Brandon and Ashara's secret marriage. His words had sent a chill through the room, the looks on the faces of the Northern lords turning murderous. If not for the fact that Hoster Tully was Ned Stark's Goodfather, and the North's loyalty to the Starks, the riverlord might not have left the room alive.

Hoster Tully's misconceptions were quickly dispelled by Princess Elia Martell.

"My lord Tully," Elia had said, her tone firm yet respectful, "I was there. I saw Brandon and Ashara wed, witnessed their vows and their bond. Their union was true and honored, as binding as any in the eyes of gods and men."

Hoster looked taken aback, but before he could respond, his younger brother, Brynden Tully, also known as the Blackfish, stepped forward. His gruff demeanor and straightforward manner often masked a sharp mind and a keen sense of justice.

"Brother," Brynden said, his voice carrying a note of admonishment, "we've known each other all our lives, and you've always been a proud man, protective of our house's honor. But honor doesn't come from questioning the legitimacy of others without proof. Especially when the proof stands right before you."

Hoster opened his mouth to protest, but Brynden pressed on, his eyes hard and unyielding. "Princess Elia's word is more than enough for me. She is a woman of honor, and she speaks the truth. Brandon Stark may have been a hotheaded fool who made impulsive decisions, but he was a good man, and I'm sure so is his son. We would do well to remember that and respect his legacy."

Hoster looked taken aback, clearly stung by his brother's words, but before he could respond, Brynden continued. "We stand at a crucial juncture, brother. The North has sacrificed much in this rebellion, as have we all. Questioning the legitimacy of our allies' heir only serves to weaken our position."

The room fell silent, the weight of Brynden's words sinking in. The Northern lords, their initial anger now tempered by reason, looked to Hoster for his response. 

Hoster Tully, his pride wounded but his sense of duty prevailing, nodded slowly. "You are right, Brynden," he conceded, his voice quieter now. "I acted rashly. My apologies to you all, and to you, young Lord Stark. Your father was a great man, and I see his strength in you."

Cregan, observing the exchange with the awareness of someone far older than his years, nodded solemnly. "Thank you, Lord Tully," he said, his voice steady. "House Stark values honor above all, and I will do everything in my power to uphold it."

The tension in the room eased, and the Northern lords relaxed, their loyalty to House Stark reaffirmed by the integrity of their new lord and the reasoned intervention of Brynden Tully.

—

As Ned pondered these events, the heavy wooden door creaked open. Catelyn stepped into the room, her expression set in a mask of composure. She had just put their son Robb to sleep, but the strain of the day's revelations was evident in her stiff posture and the coldness in her eyes.

"Ned," she greeted him, her tone cool and measured. She approached, though there was a noticeable distance in her demeanor. "How are you holding up?"

Ned looked up, a faint smile touching his lips despite the weight on his shoulders. "It's been a long day," he admitted, reaching out to take her hand. "But seeing you and Robb has given me strength."

Catelyn didn't move to take his hand, instead folding her arms. "This news about Brandon and Ashara," she said, her voice tinged with bitterness. "It's a lot to process."

Ned's hand dropped to his side. "I know. None of us expected it. But it's the truth, and we must honor it."

Catelyn sighed, her brow furrowing deeply. "My father's reaction was... difficult. I understand his concerns, but it felt like an attack on our family's honor."

Ned nodded slowly. "He was worried about the future of his line and the Riverlands. But Princess Elia's testimony and Brynden's intervention have settled the matter for now."

Catelyn looked at him, her eyes cold. "It's not just about my father. The thought of Brandon keeping such a secret from us... And Ashara being my goodsister… It's a lot to take in. You knew about this, didn't you?"

Ned's expression softened with regret. "I learned of it recently, Cat. I didn't know before, I swear it."

Catelyn's eyes searched his, her voice trembling slightly. "What happens now, Ned? What does this mean for our family, for the North?"

Ned took a deep breath, his gaze steady as he met hers. "It means we have to adapt, Cat. Until Cregan reaches an age where he can take the burdens of lordship onto his shoulders, I will be acting as his regent. I will guide him and ensure the North remains strong and united."

Catelyn nodded slowly, processing his words. "And what does that mean for us, Ned? For our children?"

"It means we must stand by Cregan and support him as if he were our own," Ned said. "We will raise him alongside our children, teach him the values and honor of House Stark. It won't be easy, but it's what must be done to ensure the future of our family and the North."

Ned took a moment to gather his thoughts before responding to Catelyn's question. "After Cregan comes of age and assumes his rightful position, there are arrangements that must be honored. He is betrothed to Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, as decreed by King Robert. Part of the dowry for this marriage includes the refurbishment of Moat Cailin, a crucial strategic stronghold for the North."

Catelyn's eyes widened in surprise at the mention of the betrothal and the dowry. "And what role will we play in all of this?" she asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.

Ned reached out and gently squeezed her hand. "Our role will evolve as Cregan's reign progresses. We will continue to support him as his advisors and guides, ensuring the prosperity and security of our family and the North. As for Moat Cailin, I intend to have Cregan appoint me as its lord, to oversee its restoration and defense."

Catelyn nodded slowly, absorbing the implications of Ned's words. "It's a lot to take in," she admitted, her voice tinged with apprehension.

"We'll face it together, Cat," Ned reassured her, his tone firm and resolute. "As we always have. Our family's strength lies in our unity and our unwavering commitment to each other and to the North."

"Well, at least Moat Cailin will be closer to Riverrun," Catelyn remarked, attempting to find a silver lining in their situation.

Catelyn's comment brought a faint smile to Ned's lips. "Yes, it will bring us closer in proximity," he agreed, grateful for her attempt to see the positive side of the situation. "And with Moat Cailin under our watchful eye, we can ensure the safety of both our lands."

Ned's eyes gleamed with pride as he shared the news. "Cat, there's more," he said, his voice tinged with excitement. "Ser Arthur Dayne has pledged to accompany us to the North. He'll be there to train Cregan in the ways of knighthood, ensuring that our nephew receives the finest education in martial skill and chivalry."

Catelyn's face lit up with delight. "That's wonderful news, Ned!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with enthusiasm. "Having Ser Arthur Dayne by Cregan's side is an incredible opportunity. And to think, our children might have the chance to learn from the Sword of the Morning himself—it's truly a blessing."

Ned nodded, a sense of satisfaction washing over him. "Indeed, it is," he agreed. "With Ser Arthur's guidance, Cregan and Robb will grow into true warriors, embodying the ideals of honor and courage that House Stark holds dear."

Catelyn, satisfied with how the conversation between them went, set her thoughts on other things.

Her cheeks flushed slightly as she broached the topic, her voice soft with a hint of shyness. "Ned, it's been a long while since we've been able to... spend time together," she began, her gaze meeting his with a mixture of longing and affection. "Perhaps now that things have settled, we could... make up for lost time?"

With a gentle smile, Ned nodded, his eyes reflecting his love and devotion to his wife. "Of course, Cat," he replied softly, reaching out to take her hand in his. "I've missed you more than words can express."

As they embraced, the weight of their shared burdens seemed to lift, if only for a moment. In the warmth of each other's arms, they found solace and strength, knowing that together, they would weather whatever storms lay ahead. And as the night deepened, casting shadows across the room, they surrendered to the comfort of each other's love, finding refuge in the quiet intimacy of their shared embrace.

—

Once Ashara and Cregan had settled into their assigned room, Elia entered, carrying baby Aegon and with Rhaenys skipping shead. Her presence was a welcome addition to their small gathering.

Both Ashara and Elia watched with fond smiles as Cregan and Rhaenys played with Balerion, the black cat darting around them in playful arcs.

"Look at them," Elia murmured, her gaze lingering on the two children. "They are already fast friends."

Ashara nodded, her expression filled with maternal pride. "Indeed, they are," she agreed. "It warms my heart to see them bonding so quickly."

Cregan glanced up, his eyes bright with excitement as he spotted Elia. "Aunt Elia!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with delight. "Look, we're playing with Balerion!"

Elia's smile widened at Cregan's enthusiasm. "I see that," she replied, her tone gentle. "And it looks like you're having a wonderful time."

As the children continued to play, Ser Arthur remained ever watchful by the door, his presence a silent reassurance amidst the warmth and laughter of the room.

Ashara's voice was filled with concern as she posed the question to Elia. "Have you heard any news about Queen Rhaella and young Viserys? Is there any word of their whereabouts?"

Elia's expression softened with sympathy as she responded to Ashara's inquiry. "They were sent to Dragonstone for safety when King Aerys learned of Queen Rhaella's pregnancy," she explained gently. "It is said that they remain there, seeking refuge amidst the storms that rage across the Narrow Sea."

Arthur's eyes widened with a mixture of shock and realization as the implications of Elia's words settled over him like a dark cloud. The revelation that Queen Rhaella was pregnant brought forth a troubling truth—one that cast a grim shadow over the circumstances surrounding the royal family's flight to Dragonstone.

The timeline of events began to unfurl in Arthur's mind, connecting the dots with chilling clarity. If Queen Rhaella's pregnancy indeed began around the time of Aerys's heinous acts following the executions of Rickard and Brandon Stark, it painted a grim picture of the depths of depravity to which the Mad King had sunk.

The implications weighed heavily upon Arthur's heart, a stark reminder of the atrocities committed in the name of power and madness. His thoughts turned to Queen Rhaella and young Viserys, sheltered on Dragonstone amidst the storm-tossed seas, their lives intertwined with the tumultuous currents of history.

Arthur's heart went out to Queen Rhaella, a woman trapped in a web of cruelty and abuse, her spirit weathered by the relentless storms of Aerys's madness. The thought of her suffering behind closed doors, her cries unheard and her pain unacknowledged, filled him with a deep sense of sorrow and helplessness.

As a knight of the Kingsguard, Arthur had sworn an oath to protect the royal family with his life. Yet in the face of Aerys's tyranny, his hands were tied, his duty to the crown conflicting with his desire to intervene and offer solace to the queen.

The memory of those moments spent standing guard outside Rhaella's chambers haunted Arthur, each silent vigil a testament to the powerlessness he felt in the face of injustice. He could do nothing but bear witness to her suffering, a silent sentinel in the shadows, his heart heavy with the weight of unspoken words and unfulfilled promises.

In that quiet chamber, amidst the laughter of children and the warmth of companionship, Arthur's thoughts drifted back to Queen Rhaella, a figure shrouded in sorrow and resilience, her spirit unbowed despite the trials she endured.

—-

Cregan's POV

As I played on the floor with Rhaenys and her cat Balerion, my mind kept drifting back to the events of this morning—when we were introduced to the Tullys.

I couldn't shake the tension that hung heavy in the air. The atmosphere crackled with uncertainty, each step forward feeling like a journey into the unknown.

As Uncle Ned led us into the grand hall of Riverrun, I couldn't shake the tension that hung heavy in the air. The atmosphere crackled with uncertainty, each step forward feeling like a journey into the unknown.

When Uncle Ned introduced me as the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, it was as if the temperature in the room had dropped radically the moment the words left his mouth. The gazes of the Tullys bore down on us like icy daggers, their scrutiny piercing through the facade of composure I struggled to maintain.

As Lord Tully's words hung in the air, questioning the legitimacy of my parents' marriage and casting doubt on my own status, I felt a cold chill run down my spine. Uncle Ned's voice, usually steady and resolute, seemed to falter ever so slightly, betraying the weight of the accusation. Lady Catelyn's expression was inscrutable, her eyes betraying a hint of skepticism that sent a shiver down my spine.

The Northern lords, loyal and steadfast, bristled with indignation at the insult to my family's honor. I could sense their collective fury simmering just beneath the surface, restrained only by the precarious balance of diplomacy.

For a moment, it felt as though the room itself held its breath, the tension palpable as we teetered on the edge of confrontation.

But even as the urge to retaliate coursed through our veins, we knew that violence would only escalate an already volatile situation. With great effort, the Northern lords held themselves in check, their fists clenched and jaws tight with suppressed rage.

As Aunty Elia spoke up, her voice clear and unwavering, a sense of relief washed over me like a wave crashing against the shore. Her words cut through the tension like a beacon of truth, dispelling the doubts that had clouded my mind and reaffirming the legitimacy of my parents' marriage.

In that moment, I realized the power of witness and testimony, how a single voice could dispel the shadows of uncertainty and illuminate the path forward. Aunty Elia's assurance not only cleared the doubts cast upon my own status as a trueborn son but also reaffirmed the honor and integrity of my family's legacy.

For all my life as Harry Potter, I had believed that the circumstances of one's birth mattered little in the grand tapestry of life. But in this world, where honor and lineage held sway over hearts and minds, I understood the weight of legitimacy and the importance of standing true to one's heritage.

Rhaenys's innocent voice broke through my reverie, pulling me back to the present with a gentle reminder of the world outside my own thoughts. I turned to her, offering a small smile to mask the lingering traces of uncertainty that still gnawed at the edges of my mind.

"Yes, Rhaenys?" I replied, my voice tinged with gratitude for her interruption. It was comforting to have her presence beside me, a reminder of the bonds that tied us together in this tumultuous world.

She tilted her head, her silky black hair catching the light as she regarded me with curiosity. "Are you all right, Cregan?" she asked, her concern evident in the furrow of her brow.

I nodded, a flicker of determination igniting within me. "Yes, I'm fine," I assured her, though the weight of recent events still lingered heavy on my mind. "Just lost in thought, that's all."

Rhaenys smiled understandingly, her eyes reflecting a depth of wisdom far beyond her years. "Well, if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here," she offered, her words a soothing balm to the doubts that plagued me.

"Thank you, Rhaenys," I replied, my heart swelling with gratitude for her steadfast friendship. In her presence, I found solace and strength, a reminder that no matter the challenges we faced, we would face them together, united by the ties of kinship and shared experience.

As she returned her attention to Balerion, the tension that had gripped my heart began to ease, replaced by a sense of camaraderie and companionship. With Rhaenys by my side, I knew that whatever trials lay ahead, we would weather them together, bound by the unbreakable bonds of friendship and family.

—

The next morning, Ned Stark, flanked by Ser Arthur Dayne, entered Lord Tully's solar, where Hoster and Brynden Tully awaited them. The Tullys looked surprised at Ser Arthur's presence, their brows furrowing in confusion as they exchanged glances.

"Lord Tully, Ser Brynden," Ned greeted them with a nod, his expression calm and composed despite the tension that hung in the air. "Thank you for receiving us."

Hoster Tully's gaze flickered briefly to Ser Arthur, his curiosity evident in the quirk of his brow. "Ser Arthur," he acknowledged, his tone polite but tinged with uncertainty. "To what do we owe the honor of your presence?"

Ser Arthur remained silent, his stance stoic and unwavering as he met Lord Tully's gaze with a steady stare. It was clear that his presence was unexpected, and the Tullys were struggling to conceal their surprise.

Ned cleared his throat, breaking the silence that had settled over the room. "Ser Arthur here," he gestured towards the stoic knight beside him, "has been released from his vows as a Kingsguard by King Robert."

The Tullys exchanged puzzled glances, their brows furrowing in confusion at the unexpected revelation. Hoster Tully spoke first, his voice tinged with skepticism. "Released from his vows? But why?"

Ned met Lord Tully's gaze squarely, his expression earnest as he explained. "Ser Arthur has chosen to accompany his sister, Lady Ashara Dayne, and his nephew, Cregan Stark, to the North," he elaborated. "His intention is to train Cregan in the ways of knighthood when he reaches the appropriate age."

As Ned finished his explanation, Ser Brynden Tully, the Blackfish, and Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, exchanged a respectful nod, acknowledging each other's presence with a mutual understanding of their shared martial prowess.

"It's an honor to see you again, Ser Arthur," Brynden said, his tone respectful yet tinged with admiration. "And it seems young Cregan is to be the luckiest lad in Westeros, to learn from the greatest swordsman in the realm."

Ser Arthur's smile widened at Ser Brynden's words, his pride evident as he spoke. "Indeed, I intend to teach all Stark children, not just Cregan," he explained, his tone warm and inclusive. "Learning alongside his cousins will surely help Cregan hone his skills further, fostering camaraderie and healthy competition among them."

Hoster Tully's eyes lit up with approval at the prospect, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "That sounds like an excellent plan, Ser Arthur," he remarked, his voice tinged with satisfaction. "To have my grandchildren learn from the Sword of the Morning himself is an opportunity I would not pass up lightly."

Ned Stark cleared his throat, his gaze sweeping over the assembled company. "My Lords," he began, his voice steady and resolute, "I must bid you farewell. Winterfell calls, and I cannot tarry."

Lord Hoster Tully raised an eyebrow, concern etched across his features. "Lord Stark, surely you can afford to rest for a week," he suggested, his tone laced with worry. "Your journey has been long and arduous. Winterfell will still be there when you arrive."

Ned Stark's voice held a firm resolve as he redirected the conversation back to the matter at hand. "I appreciate your concern, Lord Tully," he replied respectfully, "but my duty to my family calls me home. My brother Benjen has borne the weight of Winterfell's responsibilities alone in my absence, and I must relieve him of that burden."

Lord Hoster Tully's expression softened with understanding, though a hint of disappointment flickered in his eyes. "I understand, Lord Stark," he conceded, his tone reflecting his respect for Ned's sense of duty. "Family must always come first. Should you ever require assistance or support, you need only send word, and House Tully will answer the call."

With their farewells exchanged and the matter settled, Ned Stark and Ser Arthur Dayne took their leave of Lord Tully's solar, their minds already turning to the journey ahead as they prepared to return to Winterfell.

---

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