Eddard Stark [PIC]
Ashara Dayne [PIC]
Elia Martell [PIC]
----
The Golden Lion
The doors to the Great Hall did not open easily. They were heavy, bronze-bound monstrosities that seemed reluctant to reveal the secrets inside.
Ned signaled Rickard Karstark and his personal guard to hang back. "Let me do this," he said quietly. "If things go wrong, secure the doors."
He pushed his way inside.
The Throne Room was a cavern of shadows. The dragon skulls lining the walls seemed to watch him with empty, accusatory sockets. The air was still, smelling faintly of sulfur and old blood.
At the far end, rising from the gloom like a jagged metal beast, was the Iron Throne.
And sitting upon it was a boy in white armor.
Ser Jaime Lannister looked impossibly young. His golden sword lay across his knees, staining his white cloak with fresh red. At the foot of the dais lay a heap of black robes and matted silver hair—the corpse of Aerys Targaryen.
Ned walked the length of the hall. The sound of his boots on the stone floor was the only noise in the world. He stopped at the base of the steps, looking up at the Kingslayer.
Jaime was slouching, trying to look bored, trying to look dangerous. But Ned's Force Sense picked up the truth vibrating in the air: panic. Pure, unadulterated terror masked by a Lannister sneer.
Jaime looked up, his green eyes bright and hard.
"Stark," Jaime said, his voice echoing in the vast space. "I was wondering who would be the first to claim the prize. I was just keeping the seat warm for you. Fancy it? It's a bit spiky."
Ned looked at the monstrosity of melted swords. "And sit in a chair that cuts you if you lean back? No thanks. You couldn't pay me enough to rule from that thing."
Jaime blinked. The nonchalance threw him off. He had expected fire and brimstone, judgement and honor.
Ned waved a hand, beckoning him. "Come down from there, Ser Jaime. You look ridiculous."
The insult stung. Jaime stood up stiffly, sheathing his gilded sword. He walked down the steps, stepping over the body of the King he had sworn to protect. He stopped a few feet from Ned, chin held high.
"What happened to Aerys?" Ned asked, gesturing to the sprawled corpse on the floor.
"I killed him," Jaime said, the words tumbling out like a challenge. "I swore to die for him, and I shoved my sword in his back instead."
"Why did you kill him?" Ned asked.
Jaime laughed bitterly, looking away. "Why does it matter? He is dead. I broke my vows."
"That depends," Ned said. "Aerys was a monster. We all know what he did. Just because a man wears a crown doesn't mean he deserves to breathe."
Behind them, Rickard Karstark let out a low grunt of surprise.
Jaime stared at Ned, stunned. The swagger evaporated, leaving a sixteen-year-old boy trembling in bloodied armor. "You... you aren't going to put me in dungeons?"
"I know why I wanted him dead," Ned said, gesturing to the black mourning clothes beneath his armor. "He burned my family. But you? You stood by him until yesterday. Why today? Why him?"
Ned pointed to a second body lying near the wall—a man in the charred robes of a pyromancer.
"And who is that?"
Jaime looked at the dead pyromancer with undisguised loathing. "Rossart. The King's Hand. He was a pyromancer."
"A pyromancer Hand," Ned mused. "That sounds like a bad combination. What was he doing?"
Jaime swallowed hard. He looked around the empty hall as if the ghosts were listening.
"He was going to burn it down," Jaime whispered. "All of it."
The air in the room grew heavy.
"Burn what?" Ned asked, though a cold dread was already pooling in his stomach.
"The city," Jaime said, his voice rising in hysteria. "Aerys... he had caches of wildfire placed everywhere. Under the Sept of Baelor. Under the Dragonpit. The Flea Bottom slums. Even the Red Keep."
Jaime looked at Ned, his eyes pleading for understanding.
"He told Rossart to light them. He said, 'Let Robert be king over charred bones and cooked meat.' He was going to kill everyone, Stark. Half a million people. I couldn't... I couldn't let that happen."
Ned felt the truth of it ringing in the Force. It wasn't a lie. It was a nightmare averted by a single sword stroke.
"So you killed Rossart," Ned deduced. "And then Aerys."
"I had to before he could find another messenger," Jaime confirmed, shaking. "Did I do right? Or is honor just a lie?"
"Honor is protecting those who cannot protect themselves," Ned said firmly. "You saved this city, Jaime. More lives than any knight in history."
"Ned!" Karstark called out from the door, looking pale. "Wildfire? We need to evacuate! If there are more of them..."
"Hold," Ned ordered, raising a hand. "Panic is the spark. If we run screaming, the city tramples itself. We handle this quietly."
He turned back to Jaime. "Are there other pyromancers who know the locations?"
"Two," Jaime said. "Belis and Garigus."
"My men will find them," Ned promised. "But right now, I need you to do something else. Something harder than killing a king."
"What?" Jaime asked, wiping sweat and blood from his forehead.
"Go to Maegor's Holdfast," Ned said. "The Royal Apartments."
Jaime flinched. "Elia. The children."
"They are alive," Ned said. "I secured them myself. But the Keep is full of wolves and lions, and not all of them are tame. The Greatjon guards the door, but he doesn't know the castle like you do."
Ned stepped closer, looking the young knight in the eye.
"You failed Rhaegar," Ned said brutally. "You failed to protect his wife and children from this war. Go make it right. Stand outside that door and let everyone see that a Lannister is protecting the innocent, not butchering them."
Jaime took a breath. He seemed to stand taller. The ghost of the arrogant Kingslayer faded, replaced by something resembling a true knight.
"I will," Jaime swore. "No one gets past me."
"Good," Ned said. "Now go. Before I change my mind about the chair."
Jaime nodded and hurried toward the side exit leading to the Holdfast. He paused at the door, looking back at Ned Stark standing over the dead dragon king.
"Stark," Jaime said. "Thank you."
Then he was gone.
---
Ned was alone with the Iron Throne.
He looked at the twisted metal chair. It was ugly. It was uncomfortable. It was the ultimate symbol of power in Westeros, and Ned hated it.
He signaled to Karstark.
"Rickard," Ned said. "Take ten men. Go to the Alchemists' Guild. Find the men Jaime told about. You know what to do."
"Aye, my Lord," Rickard said, looking relieved to have orders. "And the King?"
Ned looked down at Aerys. "Cover him up. And get someone to scrub the floor. It smells like a slaughterhouse in here."
Ned turned and walked out of the Great Hall. He needed fresh air.
The Broken Claw
Outside the Red Keep, near the Traitor's Walk, Tywin Lannister sat atop his white warhorse. He was an island of gold in a sea of smoke.
He was waiting.
He had given clear orders to Clegane and Lorch. They were to scale the walls of Maegor's Holdfast, eliminate the Targaryen heirs, and wrap the bodies in crimson cloaks to hide the blood. It was a necessary brutality—a gift to Robert Baratheon that would prove House Lannister's loyalty beyond doubt.
A Lannister captain came running from the direction of the Holdfast. He was breathless, his helmet askew, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disbelief.
He stopped before Tywin's horse and fell to one knee.
"My Lord," the soldier gasped.
"Report," Tywin commanded, his voice devoid of emotion. "Are the children secured?"
"Dead, my Lord. I mean... no. Not the children." The soldier swallowed hard, terrified of the message he had to deliver. "Ser Gregor... and Ser Amory... they are dead."
Tywin's face remained a mask, but his gloved hand tightened imperceptibly on the reins. "Dead? How?"
"Stark," the soldier whispered. "Lord Stark. He breached the Holdfast alone. He cut them down. They say... they say he took the Mountain's head with a single stroke."
"Impossible," Kevan Lannister muttered from beside Tywin.
"It is true, ser," the soldier insisted. "I saw the bodies. Stark holds the nursery. The Princess Elia and the girl are alive. He has placed Northern berserkers at the door. No one can get in."
Tywin felt a cold spike of anger in his gut. It wasn't the heat of rage; it was the icy frustration of a master chess player who realizes his opponent has flipped the board.
He had planned this perfectly. Robert would have been grateful. The Stark boy was supposed to be slow, honorable, and late.
Instead, Ned Stark had outmaneuvered him. He had taken the Keep, killed Tywin's monsters, and saved the very people Tywin needed dead to secure his political future.
Now, Tywin had no gift for Robert. He only had a sacked city and a reputation for brutality that yielded no reward.
"The Northmen hold the inner yard," the captain continued, his voice trembling. "They are arresting our men. Stark has ordered them to hang looters."
Tywin looked at the smoke rising from the city. The Sack had served its purpose—to terrify—but now it was a liability. If he continued to fight, he would be fighting the Starks, the Arryns, and the Tullys. He would be the villain of the rebellion, not its savior.
He took a slow breath, locking the anger away behind his eyes.
"Sound the retreat," Tywin ordered, his voice flat.
"My Lord?" Kevan asked.
"Pull the men back," Tywin said. "Stop the looting. Assemble the host outside the city gates. We are allies of the Crown, not conquerors."
He spurred his horse forward, toward the main courtyard.
"I will speak with Lord Stark myself."
The Lion and the Wolf
The courtyard of the Red Keep was a scene of controlled chaos. Stark soldiers were corralling the remaining Lannister looters, disarming them and marching them into holding pens.
Ned walked out into the sunlight, squinting against the glare.
Across the yard, Tywin Lannister rode in. His armor shone, his crimson cloak was spotless, and his face was a mask of icy calm.
Ned walked to the center of the yard to meet him. He was covered in grime, blood, and dust. He looked like a common soldier compared to the Lion Lord.
Tywin reined in his horse. He looked down at Ned with heavy-lidded eyes.
"Lord Stark," Tywin said. His voice was smooth, devoid of emotion. "It seems you arrived ahead of schedule."
"I wanted to be a bit earlier," Ned replied, his voice cold.
"You have secured the Keep," Tywin observed, looking at the grey banners fluttering from the ramparts. "And the city?"
"The city is under my protection," Ned stated. "I have ordered my men to hang any soldier found looting or raping. That includes yours, Lord Tywin."
Tywin's eyes narrowed slightly. It was the only sign of irritation he allowed. "King's Landing is a nest of Targaryen loyalists. A certain amount of... severity is required to pacify it."
"There is severity, and there is butchery," Ned said. "We are not butchers."
"We are at war," Tywin countered. "And to win a war, one must be willing to do what is necessary."
"The war is won," Ned said. "Aerys is dead."
Tywin paused. "Dead? By whose hand?"
"His own Kingsguard," Ned said calmly. "Justice found him."
"And the others?" Tywin asked. "Rhaegar's children? His wife?"
Ned held Tywin's gaze. He knew exactly what Tywin had planned. He had sent the Mountain and Lorch to kill the children, to present their bodies to Robert as a grotesque token of loyalty. A blood price to buy his way onto the winning side.
"They are safe," Ned said. "Under heavy guard. No one touches them."
Tywin was silent for a long moment. He was recalculating the board. He had lost his bargaining chip.
"Robert will not suffer Targaryen to live," Tywin said softly. "You are delaying the inevitable, Stark. And you are making enemies you do not need."
"I don't fear enemies I can see," Ned replied. "And Robert will decide their fate when he arrives. Until then, they are under the protection of House Stark. If you want them, you'll have to go through me. And my army."
Ned gestured to the walls, where thousands of Northern archers and infantry stood watching the confrontation.
Tywin looked at the walls. He looked at Ned.
"You have a soft heart, Lord Stark," Tywin said. "It will be your undoing in the south."
"Winter is coming, Lord Tywin," Ned replied. "We find that soft hearts keep us warm. Hard ones freeze."
Tywin pulled on his reins, turning his horse. "My men will encamp outside the city walls. To avoid... confusion."
"A wise choice," Ned said.
He watched the Lion ride away. Tywin Lannister had retreated. For now.
The City Secured
By nightfall, King's Landing was quiet.
The fires in Flea Bottom had been extinguished. The streets were patrolled by Stark and Arryn men. The Lannister army was camped outside the Lion Gate, sulking.
Ned sat on the steps of the Sept of Baelor, watching the city breathe a sigh of relief.
Howland Reed materialized from the shadows. The crannogman smelled of smoke and chemicals.
"It is done?" Ned asked quietly.
"The pyromancers are dealt with," Howland said. "The wildfire beneath the Great Sept has been neutralized. The caches under the Dragonpit are flooded. The city is safe from the madman's fire."
"Good," Ned exhaled, feeling the tension drain from his shoulders. "We sit on a powder keg, Howland. But at least the fuse is wet."
"Robert is two days behind us," Howland noted. "When he arrives, he will be King."
"He will," Ned agreed. "And I will be done with this place."
He stood up, looking north. He missed the cold. He missed the clean air. He missed a life that wasn't filled with snakes and lions.
"We hold the city until he comes," Ned said. "We keep the peace. And then... we go find Lyanna."
He touched the hilt of his sword. He had changed history today. He had saved the innocents. He had stopped the Sack from becoming a tragedy.
But as he looked at the Red Keep looming in the dark, Ned knew the game wasn't over. It was just changing players.
Let Robert have the chair, Ned thought. I'll take the peace.