The wheel towers of Riverrun rose above the mist like sentinels as Eddard Stark drew rein. The Tumblestone's soft murmur in the plains of riverlands filled the morning damp cool air against his face. He had been riding for days too many to count from White Harbour. His body aching from the road and the weight of all that had gone wrong since he had left Winterfell.
Behind him rode a score of Manderly knights in green cloaks with their silver merman sigils dulled by road dust. Lord Wyman had insisted they travel with him south, "for Tywin would surely pay many men of South to do the dirty work for him," he had said and Eddard had not argued his reasons. He had little strength left for that.
Sansa was safe, he reminded himself or as safe as Winterfell could be. Wyman would see to her, as he had sworn him to be castellan of Winterfell for the time he is in South. He had learnt from him that his youngest daughter Arya had already arrived at Riverrun escaping with help of Yoren from the Nights Watch.
He could not help but think of what Catelyn had done. She took a Lannister hostage while her husband and children were in the Lion's den just by believing words of someone she considered 'brother'. His hands tightened on the reins. He could not bring himself to hate her, but the anger ran deep. His own lack of firmness to keep her away from Baelish had given her the courage to act rashly. He knew his own mistake too, going to Cersei with truth and asking her to take his mercy fo her children, hoping for peace had instead brought the realm to war.
The banners of Tully and Stark flapped on the ramparts as he entered Riverrun's gates. The air smelled of river mud and forge smoke, of too many soldiers crammed too close. When the guards cried "Lord Stark!" the sound rolled like thunder through the yard.
Then he saw his son.
Robb comes running down two steps at a time, a young wolf with the crown of iron, surmounted by nine black iron spikes wrought in the shape of longswords, upon his brow. Arya spurred from behind her brother jumping straight into her arms and for a heartbeat he felt only relief after so many days, a father's simple joy that his children still lived. But then the sight of the crown drove a blade through that moment's peace. A crown meant only one thing.
Inside, the Great Hall rang with the noise of men too long at war. Tankards clanged and laughter boomed in the hall though Lord Greatjon Umber's voice carried above them all, heavy with ale and mirth. "We were marching to break you from the lion's den, Lord Stark!" he roared. "Seems the beasts weren't strong enough to keep wolves chained!"
Laughter followed him like rolling thunder. Ned gave a small, weary smile. "It was not I who broke their chains, Lord Umber. Prince Oberyn Martell helped me."
The laughter stilled at that. Even Robb blinked, uncertain. Ned saw the lords' exchanged looks of suspicion and unease for reason a Martell would help Starks.
His eyes roamed the hall. Catelyn sat beside him happy and proud, Edmure lounged beside her, face flushed from wine. Greatjon leaning forward with a grin too wide enjoying himself to the feast. But it was another man who caught his eye quiet, thin and face showing anger that clearly didn't suit him.
Howland Reed sat apart, as ever, among the minor lords of the riverlands. His small hands rested still on the table, though his green eyes fixed not on him, but on the crown resting on Robb's head.
Eddard follows that gaze and his heart sank. Catelyn speaks softly beside him, as if to answer the question forming on his face. "The lords of the North and Riverlands have declared for Robb. They would have us break from the Seven Kingdoms… as before the Aegon's conquest."
Edmure Tully, red-faced with wine, slammed his cup upon the table. "Aye! Why follow Dragons, Baratheon or Lions any longer? The North has its king now, and the Riverlands stand beside him!"
A murmur of approval rose, tankards struck against tables, a roar swelling for their young king. Yet in the midst of it all, Howland Reed rose to his feet. His movement was quiet, but the sound of his chair scraping stone silenced the room faster than any shout.
"Is that so, Lord Fool?" His voice was low and steady, each word cutting through the noise like a valyrian steel through leather.
Edmure blinked, slow to understand. "What did you call me?"
Howland moved closer, his face unreadable. "Is that how you make yourself useful to the house that lifted yours from the mud? From vassals and servants of House Hoare to Lord Paramount of the Riverlands? You forget who raised you and why." His eyes swept the hall, the lords of Riverland and their banners. "Lord Hoster Tully rose against his King Aerys not for justice, not for mercy, but to see his blood upon three of the Seven Thrones. He made that rebellion a family foundation. And with second one" his gaze flicked to Robb and his crown "he has it."
The words struck many and Catelyn's face tightened, anger flaring though she knew what he said was right, after her last meeting with her father. "You will hold your tongue, Lord Reed," she said sharply, rising. "My father—"
"Be quiet, Lady Fish."
The insult hung in the air but Howland continued turning his gaze on Ned. For the first time that night, the quiet man of the Neck let his fury show. "And you, Eddard Stark. You seem content to see a crown on your son's head. Isn't that right, oathbreaker?"
The words cracked like a whip. Benches scraped as many men rose from their seats. Lord Greatjon's face darkened as he shoved back his chair. "I will choke you on those words, crannogman, guest right or no."
Robb too was on his feet, hand to the dagger at his belt moving to Lord Reed. "I'll have your tongue for those words against my father and mother, Lord Reed."
Howland didn't move, his gaze never left Ned's face since his accusation.
"Sit down, Robb, Greatjon."
Ned's voice was low, but the hall went still. His eyes grey and grave, never left green eyes of his friend.
Robb hesitates, confusion warring in him but the pain in his father's voice stilled him. Slowly, he comes back to his seat and sits down.
Howland's stare softens, though his voice did not. "I'll not become an oathbreaker for some selfish folly, nor will I forget the promise I made to the woman who died as my sister on her deathbed, asking something of us both. I will not betray her."
He turns for the doors though they were opened by Maester Vyman entering from outside gray robes flapping and his face pale with unease. "Your Grace," he stammers, bowing first to King Robb Stark and then Edmure Tully, "a raven from Dragonstone, bearing the seal of House Targaryen."
The hall stiffens hearing the word of Maester as many had thought of Tywin words to be nothing but a trick. Vyman unrolls the parchment with trembling fingers. "King Aemon of House Targaryen calls for the fealty of all true men of Westeros. Those who stand against the blood of dragons…" His voice faltered, and he looks to King. "shall learn fire and blood."
The words silences very thought of many traitors who pledged their fealty here for benefits. Then laughter rangs out, soft at first then rising in volume. Howland Reed laughs, a sound full of weary amusement, echoing off the stone walls as he walks out of the hall.
It was the first time any of them had heard him laugh.
Ned sat still as a carved weirwood. Aemon Targaryen, his nephew, the King of Westeros raised as bastard amongst wolves. The hall murmurs, shocked but he heard only the echo of Lyanna's voice, Promise me, Ned.
He closes his eyes, weighing the choice between the crown that Hoster Tully had placed on his son's head or promise his sister made on her deathbed. And in that silence, he felt an old cold truth settle in his bones. The game was not over, it had only begun.