A marriage alliance

The clamor in the courtyard sank into an eerie silence as Ned and Robert left.

Lynn leaned in the shadow of a pillar, watching the two figures disappear into the entrance to the crypts.

One was his nominal sovereign.

The other was his temporary protector.

These two men were brothers in all but blood, and comrades in arms.

And both were stepping into the abyss.

The smile had long since vanished from Queen Cersei Lannister's face, and her eyes were full of fury.

She stared toward the crypts.

Her gaze seemed intent on burning that dark entrance to ashes.

Jaime Lannister stood beside her, an idle smile on his face.

With a gloved hand, he gently patted the queen's tense shoulder, the gesture intimate and suggestive.

"My dear sister, why get angry over a dead woman?"

His voice was low, tinged with mockery.

"A king must have a few harmless diversions."

Cersei said nothing.

She merely looked away, her icy gaze sweeping across the courtyard before settling on the Stark children.

Sansa in particular.

The steps down to the crypts were wet and slippery with melted snow and ice.

The crypts were always warm, for Winterfell stood above hot springs.

Ned and Robert walked among the dead of House Stark, their footsteps echoing through the crypts.

Torchlight danced in the narrow passage, stretching their shadows into long, distorted shapes.

The air smelled of dust and cold.

Robert Baratheon said nothing, only breathed heavily.

His obese body moved awkwardly on the narrow stone steps.

Ned followed behind him, equally silent.

He could feel the oppressive emotion radiating from the king.

It was not the majesty of a ruler who held dominion over the realm.

It was a heavy sorrow, almost crushing in its weight.

They passed rows of statues of Stark ancestors.

Those cold stone figures held iron swords, silently watching the newcomers.

Soon, the two men stopped before three stone coffins arranged side by side.

This statue was of Ned's father, Rickard Stark.

He sat in solemn dignity, his stone fingers gripping the sword laid across his knees.

The two coffins beside him belonged to his children.

One was Ned's elder brother, Brandon.

The other was Ned's sister, Lyanna, who had been only sixteen when she died.

Now, only Ned's younger brother, Benjen, remained alive.

Robert knelt before Rickard's statue and bowed his head respectfully before rising.

"Jon Arryn is dead."

Robert's voice suddenly broke the suffocating silence.

Ned paused.

"I know, Your Grace."

Robert turned.

The firelight illuminated half his face, and his eyes were bloodshot.

"I respected him."

"Though I don't know how he died."

"But I know I'm surrounded by vipers, Ned."

"Liars, cowards, and groveling little men."

"I can't trust anyone."

Robert's gaze fixed on Ned's face.

"I want you to be my Hand of the King."

This was not a request.

It was an order.

Ned's heart sank.

He thought of Catelyn's worries, of the peaceful years at Winterfell, of his children.

He wanted to refuse.

So he knelt and spoke as tactfully as he could.

"Your Grace, I'm a man of the North."

"I don't belong in the south."

"Listen, Ned."

Robert stepped forward, his enormous bulk almost completely overshadowing Ned.

"I didn't come here to negotiate."

"I need someone I can trust to watch my back."

"In all the Seven Kingdoms, you're the only man I trust."

"And I'll eat, drink, and make merry, and whore to my heart's content."

"Damn it, Ned, stand up when you talk to me."

Robert helped Ned to his feet.

"You helped me win that damned Iron Throne. Surely you ought to find a way to help me keep it?"

"We were meant to rule this realm together."

"And our houses should have been joined in marriage, if your sister Lyanna were still alive."

"Fortunately, it still isn't too late."

"I have a son, and you have a daughter."

"They'll carry all of this on."

But Ned avoided Robert's gaze.

"Jon's son..."

Robert hastily shook his head.

"He's only six! Let him inherit the lordship of the Eyrie, and leave it at that!"

Ned was somewhat taken aback.

House Arryn had served as Warden of the East for generations.

This was supposed to be a hereditary office!

Robert explained.

"How can a six-year-old be a warden? He can't command an army."

"If that won't do, then once he's grown a little in a couple of years, we can give it back to him!"

With Robert putting it that way, Ned knew the king had already settled House Arryn's future.

He had probably settled Ned's as well.

The king's will could not be defied.

"I will obey your will, Your Grace."

Ned's voice was low.

Robert grew irritated.

"Damn it, Ned, stop bloody calling me Your Grace."

"Say it again and I'll beat you to death!"

Ned gave a helpless smile.

The interruption dispelled some of the sorrow on Robert's face, replacing it with a trace of weariness.

Robert turned to face another statue.

Lyanna Stark.

The craftsman had been skilled, preserving her youthful features forever in stone.

Even the cold statue could not conceal that wildness and beauty of the North.

Robert reached out.

The massive hand that had once wielded a warhammer now trembled slightly.

With rough fingertips, he gently stroked Lyanna's cold cheek.

"Why did you have to put her in this damned place? She should have had blue skies and white clouds for company..."

"Ned... I dream at night."

Robert's voice was as soft as a sigh.

"In my dreams, I kill him over and over."

"Rhaegar."

"With my warhammer, I smash open that gaudy armor of his and shatter every bone in his body."

"Again and again."

Only the crackle of the burning torch sounded in the crypts.

"You've already killed him, Your Grace."

Ned reminded him softly.

"Have I?"

Robert withdrew his hand, the sorrow on his face instantly replaced by a bone-deep hatred.

"But it still isn't enough!"

"As long as a single Targaryen lives, I can't sleep in peace!"

His voice rose abruptly, sending echoes through the crypts.

"That Viserys."

"And his sister, Daenerys."

"They're still alive, Ned!"

"They're hiding across the Narrow Sea, breeding like cockroaches, waiting for the day they can come back and take everything from me!"

A mad fire burned in Robert's eyes.

"I want them dead."

"I want the name Targaryen wiped from this world forever."

Ned felt a chill.

It rose from the soles of his feet and swept through his entire body.

It was colder than the bitterest wind in the North.

Kill innocent children?

It went against every principle and code of honor he believed in.

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something.

But Robert glared at him.

"You've forgotten!"

"The Mad King roasted your father alive!"

"He put a noose around Brandon's neck and placed him right across from where your father was being burned. Your father's screams drove your elder brother to lunge forward with all his strength!"

"The louder your father screamed, the harder your brother struggled to reach him. In the end, your brother strangled himself to death, breathing his last before your father did!"

"The courtiers were forced to watch. The timid didn't dare speak out, and any loyal man who dared open his mouth was either butchered on the spot or exiled!"

"Ned!"

"Have you forgotten all of that?"

Looking at Robert's face, twisted with fury, Ned found every word of protest lodged in his throat.