Chapter 30: Diplomacy
The chamber Eddard had claimed in the Red Keep was spartanly furnished—a simple desk, two chairs, and a narrow bed that reminded him more of a cell than lordly quarters. But it suited him well enough. He had no desire for southern comfort, not after what he'd witnessed in the throne room.Artos sat sprawled in one of the chairs, long legs stretched out before him, but Eddard could see the tension in his brother's shoulders. For his own part, Ned found himself pacing like a caged wolf, his hands clenching and unclenching as he replayed Tywin's threat over and over in his mind.I will have your head for it.The words burned in his memory like brands. If Robert and Jon hadn't been there... if steel had been drawn in earnest... Westeros would be mourning the death of a Lord Paramount and Warden. The North would be at war again before the last war's corpses had even cooled.
"Relax, Ned," Artos said, watching his brother's restless movement. "I'm the one who's supposed to lose his temper, remember? You're the noble lord of honor and justice." He gestured dramatically with his hands. "I'm the savage, angry wolf—the big, bad villain. You're stealing my role, brother."
Despite everything, Eddard felt his mouth twitch upward. "Arty..." He paused, then added with deliberate precision, "You cunt."
Artos grinned. "Now that's uncalled for."
"Don't jest with me, Arty. Not about this."
The brief moment of levity died as quickly as it had come. "That bastard Lannister threatened you. After the butchery they brought into the king's throne room, after the mockery they made of justice, they had the gall to threaten a Stark."Eddard stopped his pacing and turned to face his brother. "We fought this war to rid the realm of Targaryen madness, but I never wanted Elia and her children to pay the price for their father's sins. They were innocents, Arty. They could have been saved."
Artos's expression grew somber. "Aye, brother. They were guilty of nothing save being born to the wrong father. The children especially—they were little and pure." His voice hardened. "But these southern lords who call us savages while they hide behind their gold and fine clothes... they have no real honor. They're selfish creatures of the worst sort, too craven to face warriors in honest battle, so they butcher women and babes instead."
"What should we do?" Eddard asked, though he already suspected the answer.
Artos was quiet for a moment, staring at his hands. "There's nothing we can do, brother. The king and his Hand have made their choice. Unless you're ready to raise our banners in rebellion again—and we both know you won't, not against Robert and Jon Arryn—we must accept it as it stands."
Eddard nodded grimly. "Nothing to be done." The words tasted like ash. "It's a bitter thing, knowing that some who died in this war will find justice while others will not."
"I told you to take the throne yourself," Artos said with a wry smile. "But you were too honorable for that."
Eddard actually laughed at that, though there was no humor in it. "Forget it, Arty. Let's just go home to Winterfell where we belong."
"Aye," Artos agreed. "Let's go home, brother."
A sharp knock interrupted their conversation, and Bert entered without ceremony.
"My lord, the Hand of the King is outside. He asks for words with you."
Eddard sighed. "Send him in."
Jon Arryn entered the chamber with the measured pace of a man carrying heavy burdens. His weathered face bore new lines since the throne room confrontation, and his blue eyes seemed more tired than Eddard remembered.
"Jon," Eddard nodded. "What brings you here?"
"I wanted to speak with you about... the situation," Jon replied carefully. "Privately, if you would permit it, Ned."
Eddard started to object, but Artos rose from his chair with fluid grace.
"Aye, you two can have your talk," Artos said, his tone making it clear what he thought of such discussions. "I'm not particularly interested in hearing two honorable men justify the unjustifiable."
The barb was aimed squarely at Jon Arryn, and it found its mark .
Jon Arryn winced as Artos departed, the chamber door closing with perhaps more force than strictly necessary."Your brother won't forgive this quickly," Jon observed.
"Should he?" Eddard asked pointedly. "He spoke nothing but truth in there."
"It's more complicated than that, Ned, and you know it."
"You taught me that being honorable was supposed to be complicated," Eddard replied, moving to pour himself a cup of wine. "You drilled your house words into me until I could recite them in my sleep. 'As High as Honor.' Was that all just empty words?"
"I know how you feel about this, Ned. Seven hells, I feel the same way. But it had to be done."
"They were children, Jon. Children!" Eddard's voice cracked with emotion. "That babe couldn't even walk properly. They could have been warded somewhere safe, raised to be loyal to Robert's reign."
Jon Arryn settled heavily into the chair Artos had vacated. "This isn't that simple, and you know it. Dorne would have rebelled if we'd let them live. Prince Doran would have called for their blood, demanded justice for his sister. Robert's reign would have been plagued by constant rebellion and war. This... this ended their cause before it could begin."
"Ended their cause?" Eddard laughed bitterly. "You've given them an even greater reason to hate Robert's rule. You think Dorne will simply forget their princess was butchered like a common whore?"
Jon Arryn sighed deeply, suddenly looking every one of his advanced years. "I know. And that's precisely why I came here. I need you to go to Sunspear and convince them to bend the knee through diplomacy."
Eddard stared at him in disbelief. "What are you saying?"
"You're the only lord who spoke in defense of Dorne today. Your honor is respected even by Prince Doran and his family. He's a cautious man, a thinking man. He'll listen to reason if it comes from you."
"Jon, I can't—"
"Ned, you have to do this. For me, for Robert, for peace." Jon leaned forward, his voice taking on the tone Eddard remembered from his youth at the Eyrie.
"I don't want another war. I don't want to see more good men die because we couldn't find a way to heal these wounds."Jon
The emotional manipulation was transparent, but effective. Jon Arryn had always known exactly which of Eddard's heartstrings to pluck, how to appeal to his sense of duty and honor. Even now, Eddard could feel himself wavering, could feel the familiar weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders like a heavy cloak.
"You're asking me to convince them to make peace with their sister's murderers," he said quietly.
"I'm asking you to prevent more innocent blood from being spilled," Jon replied. "The children are dead, Ned. Nothing can change that now. But we can still save the living."
Eddard turned to stare out the narrow window at the city below, where smoke still rose from chimneys and life went on as if the world hadn't just shifted on its foundations. Somewhere out there, families were reuniting after the war. Somewhere else, mothers were mourning sons who would never come home.How many more would die if Dorne rose in rebellion?How many more innocents would pay the price for the choices made in throne rooms by lords and kings?
"If I do this," he said finally, not turning around, "it won't be because I approve of what happened today. It will be to prevent more children from dying in wars they had no hand in starting."
"That's all I ask," Jon Arryn said quietly. "That's all any of us can do now—try to build something better from the ashes."
Eddard closed his eyes and wondered if his father would be proud of the choices he was making, or ashamed of the compromises he was willing to accept. In the end, he supposed, it didn't matter. The dead couldn't guide the living, and the living had to find their own way forward, one difficult choice at a time.