A/N: Hi everyone, me again, sorry for the delay. Let's get straight into things.

War Sage: Thank you very much, so glad to hear from you again!

Mpowers045: I'd disagree, but your words mean so much, thank you!

CunningSlytherin: Thank you! It's so good to hear from you again, you'll find out about Edward's reaction in this chapter, so enjoy!

Tunak23: Wow. That's truly so nice of you to say that, man. I really appreciate your review, probably one of the most humbling and inspiring that I've read so far. I'm honoured to have you as a reader.

Now then, on with the story. Thanks to all who follow, favourite and review this story, I can't do it without you guys. Enjoy, don't forget to follow and post a review.

Chapter 11 - Grief and Turmoil

Edward held the knife in his hands, as he sat in his quarters, within the barracks that held the remaining Stark household guard. He had finally stopped crying by this point, though he hadn't wept in front of anyone. He had waited until he was alone in his room before he let his tears fall in mourning for Jory.

It had been roughly two or three days after the attack, he couldn't tell, but Edward had spent those days alone in his room, his grief overwhelming him. Thankfully, he had managed to pull himself together enough to help bring Lord Stark back to the Red Keep, where he was currently recovering. After that, however….

The dead Stark guards, Jory included, had been moved to the barracks, their bodies having been properly cleaned and looked after. Once Lord Stark would be up on his feet again, preparations would hopefully be made to send the bodies to the North, for burial.

This meant that Edward now inherited the position of Captain of the Guard, although he had hardly thought about it, and when the young Cassel did, it filled him with more grief at how he gained it, and fear at the prospect of leading the men. He was only 16, and yet he now had more on his shoulders than ever.

Despite his wallowing in sadness and self-pity, Edward felt angry. He was holding the knife that had killed his beloved cousin, looking it over, and determining that only Jaime Lannister could have wielded such an unnecessarily extravagant weapon. The gold designed hilt of the dagger was moulded into the shape of a lion's head, and considering there were Lannister dead amongst the bodies of the skirmish, Edward was convinced that the Kingslayer had killed Jory.

As mentioned before, he had finally stopped crying, but his tears of grief were replaced by the silent brooding of anger. A melancholy thought that passed through his head had remarked how this is how Jon must feel, considering he mainly brooded and sulked in the corner at Winterfell when they were children.

But even then, none of the anger or grief mattered, compared to the crushing emptiness he felt at Jory's loss. His cousin was more like a brother to him, the closest blood relative to a sibling he had. Numbness smothered his mourning and rage like a wet cloth over fire, leaving Edward simply feeling like a shell, unable to process what had happened.

A knock sounded at the door. Gods, if that was any more of the guards' pathetic attempts to cheer him up…..

Edward strode over to his door in frustration at being disturbed from his silent mourning, leaving the Kingslayer's knife on the stand next to his bed, and opened the door, prepared to shout at whoever it was to leave. No guard stood in front of him, but a red haired girl that had so many times brought a smile to his face. Sympathy and concern shone in her cerulean eyes, accentuated by the worried furrowing of her brows.

"Sansa…" Edward could only whisper in surprise at seeing the Stark girl in the barracks, in front of him.

"Edward…. They said…. about Jory…." Sansa replied, not wanting to finish her sentence out of pain for her friend.

Edward's face hardened, desperately not wanting to shed any tears. But Sansa could already tell he had been crying, judging by the bloodshot, puffy red eyes he had. Before she could completely take Edward in with her eyes, the Cassel stood aside awkwardly at the entrance, a silent request for Sansa to enter his room, which she did, shutting the door behind her.

Sansa took this time to fully look at Edward, as he sat down on his bed, returning to his sitting position before she had knocked. She could only think of how different he looked compared to normal. He was a mess. His normally unruly, but well tended brown hair was knotted and slightly greasy from lack of wash, his stubble was now visible, clearly not trimmed well, and she could swear he was wearing the same clothes as the last time they spoke, which was two or three days ago. Overall, he looked horrible. Sansa's heart became heavy with pity and hurt for Edward.

But that wasn't the worst. Sansa knelt down in front of Edward, who was leaning his elbows on his lap, simply looking down at the floor, his hair partially falling down his face. Sansa's attention to her friend couldn't make him change his gaze, so Sansa decided to break the silence between them.

"Edward? Can you look at me?"

Slowly, reluctantly, the now Captain of the Guard raised his head, so that Sansa could see his face. The young Stark girl almost recoiled at the sight of his eyes. Whereas normally, his hazel coloured orbs would shine, full of energy and slight mischief, they were dulled, barely showing any energy, or mischief, or anything. They looked like they had the life sucked out of them, such was Edward's pain at the loss of Jory. The dark purple bags under his eyes clearly showed he hadn't been sleeping much, if at all. Combined with the bloodshot whites of his eyes, he looked like he had been through his own personal hell.

Again, Sansa's heart sank for Edward. Granted, she had her own problems right now, due to the fact that her own father was prone in bed after being injured, and the ensuing aftermath of the skirmish, but she couldn't imagine the loss that Edward was suffering. She knew how much closer than a cousin Jory was to Edward. The fact that she knew him well too only made her more sad.

"Edward, I'm so sorry…." Sansa spoke, tears of her own welling up in her eyes, as she offered her condolences to the Cassel.

A few seconds of silence passed. Before Sansa wondered if he had actually heard her, Edward finally spoke.

"Whenever my father wasn't there to look after me…. if he was busy mourning my mother, or training recruits, Jory always looked after me. Always…."

Edward's voice sounded gravelly, as if he hadn't spoken for a good while. Yet, Sansa could feel the emotion in his voice, and in response, she tentatively, yet firmly, squeezed Edward's hands with her own, a silent message of support and comfort. She felt him half-heartedly squeeze back, but considering how deeply in grief he was, Sansa didn't really care. Sensing he was about to continue, she remained silent.

"...and when he needed me…. I wasn't there for him…." Edward finally met Sansa's gaze, newly made tears starting to fall down his face. The look of pure guilt and agony that Sansa saw made her heart break.

"...my cousin died far from home, surrounded by enemies…. and I w- I wasn't there to protect him…"

Sansa let go of one of Edward's hands and instantly moved her free right hand to gently cup Edward's face, caressing his cheek with her thumb, in an effort to calm him. Edward slightly recoiled from the gesture, slightly surprised by Sansa's sudden bravery, but after a second he leaned his face back into Sansa's caring touch. In truth, Sansa was surprised too, but considering the two nearly kissed the other day, before everything had happened, and the fact that she couldn't bear to see Edward like this, she had no problem with it.

"Jory knew what he was getting into, Edward. You know this, and you also know he wouldn't want you to grieve like this, alone for days without any support. You shouldn't think like that. Besides, if you had been there, who knows what could have happened to you. There was nothing you could do-" Sansa tried to assure Edward.

"Nothing? If I had been there, Jory might not have died!" the young Cassel suddenly erupted.

Edward stood up, abruptly forcing Sansa to stand as well, and strode to the other side of the room, before continuing his outburst, all the while staring at Sansa with a mixture of fury and disgust.

"How can you say that? I absolutely could have done something, but no, instead of being there to save him and Lord Stark, I was sat here, obeying orders, talking to you about that insufferable prick Joffrey for the thousandth time, whilst the closest blood relative I had to a brother was slaughtered in the streets of this shitpile of a city!"

It was an understatement to say that Sansa was taken back by the sudden rant that her friend had just had. It startled her, but she held it back, knowing that most likely, Edward was fuelled by his pain at the loss of his cousin. But it didn't stop her from feeling a little stung at what he said. She knew what he meant when he spoke about Joffrey. He was putting blame on her, as if she was the one who prevented Edward from saving Jory. A slight indignant anger rose up at that. All she was doing was trying to comfort Edward, she didn't deserve this.

"You don't know how sorry I am for your loss, Edward, I cared for Jory too. But just because you're grieving, I don't think you should be blaming me for it. You had orders from him and my father to stay and guard Arya and me too-"

"Aye, I did have orders. But if I wasn't so busy talking to you, if I had realised something was wrong instead of focusing on my feelings, on you, then Jory might still be alive, and your father might not have been injured!"

Sansa would have scoffed in disbelief at what she was hearing, but she remained silent, a look of confusion on her face. "What do you mean by 'on me'? What feelings?"

She saw Edward's face turn from anger to a dawning look of comprehension, but the kind that one wears when they've accidentally spilled a dark, untold secret that no-one else should know. The only time she could remember such a look was when the Forresters visited Winterfell two years ago, when Mira, the eldest daughter, had accidentally revealed to Sansa of her crush on Edward himself, ironically.

Could it be something similar? Her mind dared to wonder. She couldn't lie, what with Joffrey's inability to notice her, combined with Edward's steadfast care and concern for her, not to mention what happened between them last time, what had almost happened, she was starting to feel something for Edward that she never thought she could feel for him.

Recognising that neither of them had spoken for a good half a minute, and just as Sansa was about to break that silence with a hesitant question, Edward's expression left almost as soon as it came, once again replacing itself with heated frustration and anger.

"Nothing! It doesn't matter, you're betrothed to the Prin- just go!" Edward spouted, tripping over his words before he could dig the hole even more and reveal even more of his feelings. He opened the door, a silent order to leave his room directed at Sansa, who now scoffed in disbelief at the change and escalation in mood.

"What?"

"I want you to leave me alone. Just go." Edward begged, his voice now more calm, but firm, hiding a flurry of volatile emotions, leaving no room for argument.

"But- I- you-" Sansa stepped towards Edward, hoping to defuse his angry mood, but it only made things worse.

"GET OUT!"

Before the abrupt shout even stopped reverberating from the walls, her legs were carrying her out of Edward's room in a flash. She couldn't even hear the slam of his door behind him, nor the concerned addresses of 'My Lady' from the rest of the guards in the barracks. She didn't stop until she had reached her room, and shut the door behind her. It wasn't until then that she realised that her hands were slightly shaking, that she felt the hot streaks of tears falling down her porcelain cheeks, that she felt the warm, fluttering sensation of care, concern, and affection for Edward overwhelmingly replaced with the cold, sharp feeling of fear at the pure rage she had felt from Edward's last two words uttered to her not even moments before. She cried herself to sleep that night, not knowing what she had done for the gods to punish her like this.

"When are you gonna tell him?"

As Robb watched Bran ride his horse around the Wolfswood, a look of pure happiness on his little brother's face for the first time in weeks, he almost ignored Theon's poignant question.

"Not now." Robb replied. He had just gotten a raven from the capital about the skirmish that had injured his father and killed some of his guard, including Jory. Inside, he felt angry that the Lannisters would dare attack the Hand of the King in the streets of King's Landing, but he also felt a sense of mourning for Jory, who had helped train him. Gods, he wondered, I hope Edward is alright.

The duties of being the Lord of Winterfell was straining on him, always having to sign certain accounts, write letters to any lord, hold court with the smallfolk, never getting a moment's rest to see how Bran and Rickon were before he was summoned by Maester Luwin to sort out one thing or another.

Often, he would spend most nights awake, staring up at the ceiling, desperately missing his family, but most of all it was Jon and Edward who he longed to be with again. He missed Arya's antics, and Sansa's smiles, but it was the clashing of swords with the two brothers he had bonded with most during his life that he really missed.

He missed Jon's brooding, and Edward's obvious yet genuine pining for Sansa, and the opportunities to joke about them both, often with them, that would end with laughter and smiles all round.

"Blood for blood. You need to make the Lannisters pay for Jory and the others." Theon insisted.

But things had changed. Things were changing. He had found himself in this situation, seriously considering whether he should call his father's banners and ride for the Westerlands, to seek retribution for the attack in the capital.

But still, he was unsure, despite agreeing inside at what Theon had said. Tywin Lannister was not the sort of man to be merciful if you rose up against him or his family. He had heard rumours of several incidents where some noble families sought to undermine him, and all their rebellious notions would vanish when a minstrel, sent from Casterly Rock, would play a certain song to them; a reminder of what happened to the Reynes and Tarbecks when they dared challenge the Old Lion.

Robb had found himself at a crossroads, unsure of how to act, especially if things escalated further.

"You're talking about war." Robb said cautiously, a hint of fear at the prospect of such an event.

"I'm talking about justice." Theon countered. Robb sighed silently. He was tired of the same conflict in his mind. War or peace? Justice or injustice? It was difficult to decide. He just hoped Father would approve of the decision he would eventually have to make.

"Only the Lord of Winterfell can call in the bannermen and raise an army." Robb argued half-heartedly.

"A Lannister put a spear through your father's leg." Theon stated, incredulous at Robb's indecision and, truthfully, pathetic argument. "The Kingslayer rides for Casterly Rock where no-one can touch him-"

"You want me to march on Casterly Rock?" Robb challenged his ironborn friend, getting increasingly annoyed at Theon's apparent eagerness for a fight.

"You're not a boy anymore, Robb! They attacked your father, they've already started the war! It is your duty to defend and represent your House when your father can't!" Theon stated, appealing to the honorable, dutiful side of Robb. However, the Stark heir gave Theon a bitter look.

"And it's not your duty, because it's not your House." Robb answered back with venom evident in his voice.

Theon was preparing a reply when he noticed that it was surprisingly silent. Robb had noticed the same, as they looked around themselves, fear spiking in their guts at the disappearance of a certain Stark.

"Where's Bran?" Robb questioned, panic clear in his words.

Edward stood before his bedroom door, nervous, and wringing his hands out of habit. He had washed himself, his face shaven and his hair clean and less unkempt than before, having been swept backwards to prevent it getting in his face. He wore his studded leather jerkin armour over clean clothes, whilst he could feel his mother's pendant against his chest.

He had a lot to apologise for. In his grief and guilt, he had neglected his duty and his fellow guardsmen, not even bothered to leave his room to check on Lord Stark or Syrio, but perhaps worst of all, he had shouted at Sansa and driven her from him in her attempts to console him. Yes, he had many wrongs to make right, and it all started with opening his bedroom door.

He hadn't slept well last night, despite being exhausted from crying and anger, but judging by the muffled noises of the household guard in the main hall of the barracks, it was morning, or close enough to it. Perhaps breakfast is still being served, Edward silently hoped, and on cue, his stomach gave a growl in response. Using that as a sign he should go and eat some breakfast at the very least, Edward gathered his courage and opened his door, and started walking through to the main hall.

It wasn't too big, but considering there were just under 50 of Lord Stark's guard, it suited them fine. There were fine, stained glass windows letting in the sun from outside, a nice, glowing fire in the hearth, on the other end of where Edward was currently standing in the entrance to the quarters. Most of the guard was in here; a lot were eating the hearty porridge oats that was the option for breakfast today, and whilst there were many southern fruits and other light foods available, the Northerners still stuck to the staple breakfast that had helped to keep them well fed for the day, and kept them warm in the cold nights on duty back at Winterfell.

Old habits die hard, I guess.

Looking across, Edward could see that some of the guards were engaging in conversation, most likely over the schedules they had for the day, and who most likely had the short straw in guard post duty for the day. Overall, the general background noise of the banter and laughs being shared before the day's work generated a homely buzz that would soothe the nerves and calm one down. However, it was the opposite effect for Edward, out of a feeling of guilt that he had lashed out at his fellow Northerners, now his to command, when they were most likely mourning Jory too.

Another growl emanated from his stomach, reminding him of the increasingly tempting porridge that had his name on it, waiting for him at the end of the hall. Deciding to eat before making any apologies he started to walk over to the hearth, where the porridge was being served, by skirting along the walls, hoping not to be noticed. However, he heard a familiar voice call him before he even got half-way.

"Edward!"

Damn it.

Dorin's surprised and relieved address from the benches behind the Cassel drew the attention of the entire room. All of the guards turned their curious and shocked eyes to Edward, who couldn't help but feel his face burn at the concentrated gazes. A few whispers were heard in the now deathly silent room between some of the men, no doubt concerning why their new captain had excused himself from his self-imposed isolation.

Dorin immediately sensed the awkward, uncomfortable silence brewing, and the way Edward looked as if he wanted to melt into the floor. He stood from his place on the benches, and strode over to his young Captain, stopping a yard from him, trying his best to calm Edward with a disarming and reassuring smile.

He bowed his head. "It's….good to see you Cap-"

"Don't- Don't….call me that. Please." Edward winced, squinting his eyes shut at the use of the title that belonged to his cousin, the only person who deserved it. Dorin noticed the guardsmen were staring at their exchange, knowing it was making Edward tense up at the unwanted attention.

"What are you all looking at? You look like a herd of fucking sheep who have been told that it's shearing day, sit down, and leave us be!"

Dorin's deep Northern voice commanded authority, as he was one of the more respected men in the household guard. In an instant, the buzz of chatter flooded the room again as the onlooking men returned to their business. Turning back to Edward again, who looked less tense and nervous than before, he gave another reassuring smile. He knew Jory well, and considered him a good friend. Jory's death had affected him, and the other men, greatly, but he couldn't believe how hard it had hit Edward. He knew how badly he felt, and therefore wanted to honour Jory's memory by making sure his flesh and blood was ready to assume his title.

"You hungry, lad?"

Edward simply nodded, trying to give a weak smile.

"Come on then. Let's get some grub down yer, you look famished."

Fast forward barely ten minutes later, and Edward had just finished his second bowl of porridge as if it were nothing. He sat opposite Dorin, who was giving constant looks over his shoulder, noticing how a lot of the men were doing the same to them.

"They want me to speak to them, don't they?" Edward asked, already knowing the answer, as he fidgeted with his thumbs.

"Aye. We've been like sheep with no wolf to herd them. It's been chaos. No-one has any idea what their schedules are. Captain Jory al- would always sort out the timetables, who was doing which job and where. We've needed your leadership, Edward."

"I'm not a leader." Edward uttered, his voice almost a whisper, absent of confidence. His hair hung over his face as the young Cassel was only looking down at his now empty bowl. Dorin felt a spark of pity for the lad. Jory was supposed to live, so he could pass down more of his experience to his cousin, not die at the hands of a damn Lannister, and leave his successor in grief and turmoil.

Edward was not supposed to be like this, Dorin lamented.

"Edward." he tried to grab the new Captain's attention, receiving a small bit of eye contact. "Do you know how old Jory was when he was chosen as our Captain?"

A small shake of the head answered his question. "No."

"He was 17, a year older than you are. He was just as nervous and self-doubting as you are. But he showed promise, and he was a good person to everyone. Within a year, he was respected by everyone in the barracks, had good experience, and was a better man for it."

This revelation brought Edward's eyes to completely widen, and a small smile to form on the corner of his lips. "Really? I always thought it was because out of respect for my father that he was Captain."

"Of course not, we all chose him to lead us, Edward. We believed in him and his ability, not just because your father was Master at Arms. He never believed us when we told him that, but he grew to be a fine Captain, a good soldier, and a great friend. We believe in you now, Edward. Jory asked all of us about appointing you Vice-Captain, and we agreed, because you show the same promise. Not only that, you're his cousin, his natural heir, it only makes sense for you to lead us."

"You really think that of me?" Edward could only question the bearded Northerner with more disbelief at what he was hearing. He didn't know that Jory had asked his guardsmen if they would accept him into their ranks, even more so that they accepted wholeheartedly. It filled him with growing pride.

"Of course, lad! All Jory talked about when he was on duty with us was training with you. He's been grooming you for command, for his position. He wouldn't have it any other way, and neither would any of us. When he chose you for Vice-Captain, and for eventually succeeding him, we all did."

Dorin's words had sparked something in Edward that he hadn't felt before. He felt it flow through his body, instilling him with confidence and warmth. Before he knew it, this feeling had made him rise from his seat, standing to his full height, his chest slightly out, a reinvigorated look in his eyes, carrying the same emotion; determination. This instantly caught the attention of all the guards in the room, noticing Edward looking like himself again and more. His very presence right now made their heads lift.

Feeling the need to address them, Edward felt himself speak before he could even formulate what to say, yet it came naturally to him, letting his slowly restoring confidence influence him.

"I am sorry, to all of you, for not being there to lead you. I acted selfishly, and I did not rise to do my duty. But I will rise now. I understand that I am young, and inexperienced, but I've been told by Dorin that our late and beloved Captain Jory was the same when he was chosen to lead you. I ask now, that you follow me, and help me to lead the household guard with honour that my cousin would be proud of. I ask, that you choose me to be your new Captain, and I swear by the Old Gods and New, that I will try my best to live up to Jory's memory. What do you say?"

Silence befell the room for a short while, making Edward nervous that they would reject his request to command. However, these fears were put aside as Dorin stood, raising his fist to his chest in salute, a broad smile on his weathered face. "Just as it is right for the Starks to rule from Winterfell, so it is for a Cassel to be Captain of the Guard!" His voice booming across the room. "I am at your service, Captain!"

The moment he hailed Edward, all the men followed in tow, raising their fists to their chests, crying out addresses of "Captain!" to the young Cassel, who, standing proud, for the first time in what felt like forever, couldn't help but wear a beaming smile on his face from ear to ear.

One down, two to go.

Edward had just left the barracks after receiving proclamations of loyalty from the guardsmen, his guardsmen. He had also appointed Dorin as his Vice-Captain, who definitely helped Edward to sort out the register and jobs for the day, for each of the guards. Having finished this, the young Captain decided that he had two more people to see, and seek forgiveness from.

He was now walking through the halls of the Tower of the Hand, heading up towards Lord Stark's room, where no doubt Eddard was lying prone in bed, nursing his injured leg. Edward shook the memories of that day away the best he could, Sansa's hurt expression and Jory's limp body still raw in his mind. Still, the high that he was on from being elected Captain had now faded, leaving only anxiety and sadness.

"Seven Hells! Don't start with her again! The girl will die, and I'll hear no more of it!"

King Robert's boisterous, booming voice carried outside Lord Stark's quarters to Edward, who was in the middle of the hallway, almost outside the door, which was being held open by Robert, giving one last talk to his best friend. Clearly, the fat Baratheon was irate, yet Edward knew that this was normal, as the King either seemed to be drunk, angry, depressed, or all three at any given time.

Edward stopped a few feet from the door, not wanting to intrude on his two lieges. He could see Robert throw something in Lord Stark's direction, most likely the Hand's badge of office, judging by the King's impulsive threat.

"Put on the badge. If you ever take it off again, I swear to the Mother I'll pin the damned thing on Jaime Lannister!"

It was at this moment that Edward had to almost duck out of the way of a seething King, remembering to bow his head in respect. Not that Robert would notice or care, angry as he was, and to be honest, Edward didn't care either. He had lost all respect for the King after seeing the shadow of himself that he had become, not to mention the small fact that he had ordered the Cassel's own arrest and execution, despite not a minute earlier judging that he was innocent.

Fucking Lannisters.

Edward walked inside, yet he was slightly hesitant as he crossed the threshold into Lord Stark's chambers. He felt guilty, seeing his liege lord in such a vulnerable state, and having not come to see him sooner.

"Edward? I hadn't expected you to visit."

The young Cassel looked at his lord, clearly in pain, his right leg heavily bandaged, his skin having a thin sheen of sweat upon it that was evidence of a small fever.

"My Lord," Edward bowed his head, "I've, um, I've come to see how you are…"

Ned noticed Edward's apprehensive glance at his bandaged knee. Whilst he wouldn't admit it out loud, Ned was in a lot of pain, yet he had refused milk of the poppy, not wanting to be drugged whilst the Lannisters were prowling about, and tensions were running high.

Lord Stark understood why Edward couldn't bring himself to look at him. Looking at his wound reminded him of his guilt and failure to protect his lord and Jory.

"I, uh…." Ned noticed a sniff from Edward, who was clearly emotional, "I'm sorry for not being there to defend you, my Lord. I should've came to see you sooner. Please, forgive me."

After a few seconds of silence, Edward dared to look up at his lord, who only wore a face of pity and sympathy for him. Lord Stark struggled to sit upright, eventually propping himself against the headboard of his bed.

"There's nothing to forgive, lad. If anyone should be apologising, it's me. I stood there and watched as Jory got killed by Ser Jaime. He didn't deserve to die like that. He was a good, loyal man to the end. I will organise to have him and the fallen buried at Winterfell with proper funerals."

Edward only nodded, his words failing him as he felt the onset of tears coming, however, he pushed them back, willing himself to stay strong. The silence was broken again by Ned, who inquired about Edward's position.

"I take it the guards elected you Captain?"

Another nod from Edward. "Aye…. they felt Jory would want me to be."

"I can agree, lad. You are just like him when he was your age. I know you'll be able to lead well. You have my full support, Captain."

Edward gave a small, proud smile at hearing Ned's blessing, and stood to attention.

"Thank you my Lord. I'll serve you proudly."

It was Ned's turn to give a smile, pained as it was from his injury.

"I have no doubt you will."

Edward noticed his lord's discomfort. He made to help him, but Ned waved him off.

"I'm alright, lad. I've had worse."

"Do you want me to fetch the Grand Maester, let him give you milk of the poppy?"

"No," Ned's stoic face and Northern tones did well to mask his pain, as he slowly sat up on the end of his bed, clutching his badge of office of the Hand. "King Robert has gone on a hunt. It falls to me to rule in his absence, as Hand. I will be holding court at midday. I want you to tell your men to double the guard outside my daughters' rooms and my solar."

Edward nodded with a quick address of "Yes, my Lord", before making his way out of Ned's room to carry out his orders, but was stopped by Ned before he left.

"Edward."

The Captain turned to face his Lord, who had managed to put on his leather armour jerkin, and was standing with the help of a small cane.

"Yes, Lord Stark?"

"When you've given these orders, report back to me. You're going to be my personal guard at court."

"They burned…. most everything in the Riverlands; our fields, our granaries…. our homes. They took our women, then they… took 'em again. When they was done, they butchered them as if they was animals..."

Edward felt huge pity and sympathy for the men standing in front of himself and Lord Stark. The Hand, who was accompanied by the Master of Coin, Petyr Baelish, and Grand Maester Pycelle as he sat on the Iron Throne, was clearly uncomfortable with the monstrous, ugly thing. Edward himself was standing on the steps before the throne, silently vigil as Lord Stark's personal guard, listening to the farmers from the Riverlands give their grievances to the Hand. Having listened to what they had claimed had happened, it did not sound like some petty squabble.

"...They covered our children in pitch…. And lit them on fire." The farmer who had been describing the atrocities carried out against them finished, bowing his head, whilst trying to halt the quivering of his lips in grief. Edward couldn't say he had felt more pity for someone before.

"Brigands, most likely." Pycelle concluded, a complete lack of interest evident in his voice, which annoyed Edward at the learned man's apathy.

The farmer spoke up again. "They weren't thieves, they didn't steal nothing!"

This intrigued Edward. If they weren't thieves, then why cause such death and destruction?

"They… they even left something behind, Your Grace…." The farmer continued, looking up and meeting Lord Stark's gaze, a sense of fear in his voice that made Edward's body unable to not feel a cold shiver at the goosebumps that ran down his neck and arms. The fellow farmers behind the man all shifted slightly, giving each other similar looks of fear.

However, Grand Maester Pycelle only served to add more annoyance to Edward, as he butted in, clearly grumpy, as Edward had discovered was the norm for the old, frail man.

"This is the King's Hand you're addressing, not the King. The King is hunting."

Ned gave a small glance at Pycelle, a little annoyed at him at interrupting the farmer. Turning his attention back to the Rivermen, one of the farmers from the back emptied a rather large sack of gutted fish before the steps to the throne. Gasps and groans of disgust were heard from the crowd surrounding the court at the sight of the dead aquatic animals lying before them.

Edward himself couldn't help but scrunch his nose up at the smell of them, but apart from that, he was not as horrified as some of the Southerners that were exaggerating their reactions, including Pycelle, who looked slightly green. But again, he questioned why? Why had these murderers and rapists gone out of their way to kill and gut several fish for the farmers to take with them to show to Lord Stark?

"Trout. The sigil of House Tully." Lord Baelish remarked, before leaning in towards Ned, his voice a whisper. "Isn't that your wife's House, my Lord Hand?"

Edward understood now. Whoever had done this had the intention of causing damage and threats to House Tully. And the only people at this time who would want to enact such damage and make sinister threats to the ruling House of the Riverlands could surely be the family whose member had been captured by a member of House Tully….

Edward definitely had goosebumps now. If his suspicions were correct…. Gods only know what would happen.

"These men, were they flying a sigil? A banner?" Lord Stark asked the farmer, who looked slightly confused, trying to remember if there had been any.

"None, Your- Hand," the farmer corrected himself, "but the one who was leading them…. Taller by a foot than any man I've ever met. I- I saw him cut the blacksmith in two, saw him cut the head off a horse with a single swing of his sword!"

The mention of such acts instantly brought a memory to Edward. The other day, Sansa had told him about the Tourney of the Hand, and how a certain giant man had, in rage, decapitated his own horse with his greatsword. Another chill went through his spine. Edward gulped in fear at the image, and at the possible identity of the man.

"That sounds like someone we know." Lord Baelish echoed Edward's thoughts to Lord Stark, who was wearing his impassive stone-like 'Lord's face', as Robb liked to coin it. "The Mountain."

Ned spoke up. "You're describing Ser Gregor Clegane."

"Why should Ser Gregor turn brigand? The man is an anointed knight." Pycelle asked out of curiosity, but Edward, who was now lightly clutching and fidgeting with his sword's hilt and pommel, a habit he picked up in order to ground himself whenever he felt scared or overwhelmed, could have sworn that it sounded as if the Grand Maester was almost defending the Mountain.

"I've heard him called Tywin Lannister's mad dog. I'm sure you have as well." Lord Baelish responded to Pycelle, before leaning in again to Lord Stark. "Can you think of any reason the Lannisters might possibly have for being angry with your wife?"

Littlefinger didn't even need an answer, for everyone knew it in their heads. It was almost as if he was taunting Lord Stark with the way he said it, knowing full well that Ned knew the answer to his question.

Your wife stole the Imp, now Tywin is having his revenge.

It all made sense now. Edward knew that Lady Catelyn had captured Tyrion Lannister, and in response to the slight against his family, the Lord Paramount of the Westerlands had taken to wreaking havoc in the Riverlands as a form of retaliation.

The grip on his sword hilt got a little bit tighter.

"If the Lannisters were to order attacks on villages under the King's protection, it would be-"

"Almost as brazen as attacking the Hand of the King in the streets of the capital." Baelish finished for Pycelle, confirming Edward's suspicions, and indeed the court's, that it had to be the Lannisters behind these attacks. Pycelle shifted awkwardly in his seat at the notion, clearly uncomfortable.

There was a moment of silence from the court, all waiting for Lord Stark's verdict. Edward turned his head to look at his Lord, who was wearing a stoic face that meant that he was thinking, calculating. But the young Captain knew that Ned was a man of honour; he wouldn't need to make a choice on what to do, the decision was already made, and it would be that of justice.

"I cannot give you back your homes, or restore your dead to life, but perhaps I can give you justice, in the name of our King, Robert."

Edward gave a small smile to himself at knowing what Lord Stark would do, but it left his face quickly, knowing that this was still a very serious matter.

"Lord Beric Dondarrion." Ned called out for the Stormlord to come forward, which he did, a ginger bearded, popular young man with a warm smile always on the edge of his lips, and with vigor and honour in his eyes, the purple streak of lightning that was his House sigil emblazoned across his tunic. Edward had learnt of the Lightning Lords of Blackhaven, how they controlled one of the two passes into the Red Mountains of Dorne, a vital and very prestigious task for the Stormlords, as this allowed them to hold the Stormlands against any Dornish invaders.

"You shall have the command." Lord Stark spoke, "take 100 men, and ride to Ser Gregor's keep."

"As you command, my Lord Hand." Lord Beric bowed his head, a serious expression of acknowledgement on his face. Ned turned his head to Edward, who, sensing his gaze, turned to face his Lord.

"Captain Edward, when court is adjourned, go with Lord Beric, help him assemble the men. Ask any of our guardsmen if they wish to join him. When you're done, report back to the Tower of the Hand."

Edward took on an equally serious expression, one of determination. "Aye, my Lord. I'll do as you ask."

Nodding slightly in approval, Ned rose to his feet gingerly, clutching his cane that supported him, before addressing Lord Beric.

"In the name of Robert, of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, I charge you, Lord Beric Dondarrion, to bring the King's Justice to the false knight Gregor Clegane, and all those who shared in his crimes. I denounce him, and attaint him. I strip him of all ranks, and titles, of all lands and holdings, and sentence him to death."

This announcement from the Hand sent rushed whispers scattering through the court. Grand Maester Pycelle rose from his chair in disagreement, not happy with Lord Stark's order.

"M-My Lord, this, this is a drastic action! Perhaps it would be better to wait for King Robert's return-"

"Grand Maester Pycelle," Ned continued, as if he had not heard the old man's pleas for patience, his stern Northern voice sounding as authoritative as ever, "send a raven to Casterly Rock. Inform Tywin Lannister that he has been summoned to the capital to answer for the crimes of his bannermen. He will arrive within the fortnight, or be branded an enemy of the Crown, and a traitor to the realm."

Edward didn't think that his grip on his sword hilt could get any tighter than that moment.

"I've met your cousin, you know. During the Greyjoy Rebellion."

"Really? Jory, he…. he never told me that. All he talked about was Thoros of Myr with his flaming sword, first one into the breach at Pyke."

Beric Dondarrion gave a warm chuckle. "Yes, well, Thoros and I are good friends. I bet he doesn't even remember that it was myself who told him to use that flaming sword of his, with how drunk he was. I told him it would inspire the troops. I guess it did in the end."

"Judging by Jory's reaction, I think so too." Edward gave a chuckle and smile of his own.

The two were riding with 10 Stark guardsmen from Lord Eddard's household, who had volunteered to join Lord Beric in his quest to capture and execute Ser Gregor Clegane for his crimes. One of these men was Dorin, who had chosen to join despite the small objection from Edward, who saw Dorin as the only true mentor in the guardsmen he had left since his father was with Lady Catelyn and Jory was gone. Dorin had simply patted the young Captain on the shoulder, given a reassuring smile, and told Edward to follow the advice of Lord Stark, and be himself. Reluctantly, Edward had permitted him to go, with his support.

The small group of men were riding down the streets of King's Landing, towards one of the gates leading out of the city, where Lord Beric intended to gather more men from the Lords of the Crownlands, mainly from Rosby, and the Blackwater Rush. They all came to a stop at the gate leading north, and dismounted to say their goodbyes to Edward.

The guardsmen all gave a firm handshake, words of condolence for Jory, vows of avenging him, and encouragement for his command. Edward thanked them all, knowing their words to be sincere. It was Dorin who came last out of the guardsmen, and like before, he gently grasped Edward's shoulder in assurance.

"I know you don't want me to leave, lad. But as Vice-Captain, I feel it's my duty to help lead the company with Beric, and stop the Lannisters from violating Lady Stark's homeland."

Edward gave a curt nod. "I understand, Vice-Captain. I wish you good fortune in the fights to come."

Dorin gave a smile, and a stand at attention. "I wish you the same fortune for your command, Captain. May the Old Gods guide you."

Dorin left to attend the men and his horse, whilst Beric was the last man to say farewell. Exchanging a handshake, Beric gave one of his customary warm smiles.

"I'm going to Rosby to gather more men, then we'll head north to find the Mountain." Beric stated.

"I expect it'll be difficult, my Lord." Edward responded.

"Aye, most likely. But my good friend Thoros should come along, that'll lift the spirits." A small laugh was shared between the two, before Beric turned slightly more serious. "You have my sympathies, for Jory. He seemed like a good man."

"He was." Edward confirmed, a little emotional.

"Don't worry, Captain. Your cousin's memory will be avenged. Good luck on your command, you will serve Lord Stark well." Beric reached out for another handshake, which Edward gladly took.

"As will you, my Lord. May the Gods grant you good fortune in your mission."

With that, the two mounted their horses, Beric and his small group heading to Rosby, Edward heading back to the Red Keep. The day certainly had been eventful, and it was still mid-afternoon. That left one more job to do, one more apology to make, and it involved a Stark girl who he cared for deeply.

Edward strode up the stairs of the Tower of the Hand, intent on finding Sansa and apologising to her for his outburst the night before. Even thinking back to last night brought a sense of shame to Edward, who should have not been so rash and emotional. He made his way to the dining area, knowing that she'd probably be there with her Septa. As he found the door to the dining room, he looked through and found Sansa with Septa Mordane.

Only, they weren't alone.

The sun poured through from Blackwater Bay into the room, filling it with golden colours. One would simply be in awe at the sight. Edward found himself staring in awe, only, not at the room, but at the people inside it.

Septa Mordane stood on the balcony, looking away in slight awkwardness at the kiss Sansa and Prince Joffrey were sharing. Edward couldn't help but stare, and feel his blood boil at the sight.

He couldn't believe that he was seeing this. For years he had hoped to be Sansa's first kiss, but the title went to the insufferable Prince, which made him so angry. He was a second away from marching over and pulling Joffrey off Sansa, but the two seperated, with Edward only able to see Sansa's face.

She was smiling, a dreamy look in her eyes, clearly happy with what had just happened. But it faded as soon as she looked over Joffrey's shoulder to see Edward, clean and shaved and handsome, looking at her with a mixture of shock, disgust, and anger.

Joffrey noticed, and turned to face the Captain, a smug smile on his weasel-like face, his eyes taunting him, as if he had just taken his favourite toy. The Prince sauntered over to Edward, who stood there, not even speaking, his face turned blank but his eyes shooting fury at what he witnessed.

"Well, well, if it isn't the new guard Captain." Joffrey mocked, now stood a foot and a half away from Edward, his courage clearly high after gaining the affection of his betrothed. "So sorry to hear about your cousin. I suppose that my uncle and his men were no match for Northern savages."

Edward knew he was trying to goad him, especially in front of Sansa. Every fibre of his hands were itching to punch the Prince's face, and bloody him beyond recognition, but he wasn't a soldier for nothing. Discipline and honour ruled his actions, not rash emotion. He stood there, slightly towering over Joffrey, simply staring him down, not speaking.

It seemed Joffrey didn't need a reaction. He smirked that shit-eating grin that Edward had grown to hate.

"It seems that you've caught Lady Sansa in a good mood. I do enjoy her company…" Joffrey whispered to Edward, putting one last dig in at him, before leaving the room.

Sansa saw Edward visibly relax, but his face still was impassive, and his eyes were still livid. Those same eyes caught Sansa's gaze, and smouldered slightly, turning from burning golden brown to heated brown and green. Still angry, but with a mixture of sadness. No doubt, Sansa thought, because of what he saw.

"Septa Mordane," Edward finally spoke up, his voice neutral, "I would like a moment with Lady Sansa alone, if I may ask."

Septa Mordane, slightly eager to get out of the tension covering the room at that moment, nodded and left Sansa and Edward to talk privately.

Edward looked at Sansa, taking in her appearance. Having adopted the Southern fashions and styles, she wore a light blue dress, with billowing loose sleeves, that matched the colour of her eyes, whilst her hair was intricately done up, instead of the Northern style that normally framed her beautiful face. But what really stood out was the lion necklace that Sansa was wearing on her neck and resting on her collarbone. Whilst thinking of what to say in apology, Edward had seriously considered offering Sansa his own pendant as a way to say sorry. But clearly it didn't matter, as that stupid Prince had somehow managed to gain her affection.

First Jory, now this?

Sansa looked into Edward's eyes again, seeing hurt flash across them. She knew why he was upset. She had let Joffrey kiss her, give her a lion necklace like the one the Queen wore. She had effectively given Joffrey her affections, and she could see how much it hurt Edward. Most likely, he had arrived to give an apology, instead, she had basically thrown it back in his face.

I shouldn't have kissed Joffrey, her immediate thought was. No matter how upset she got with Edward, she hated to cause more pain for him, especially after Jory's death.

Good, another thought in the back of her mind sprouted. He deserves it, after how he treated you.

Sansa was almost shocked at the thought, but she knew that it was how she felt earlier. She was still hurt and angry herself after Edward had shouted at her and blamed her for Jory's death. Just like the argument at Winterfell before they left, Sansa didn't want to give Edward the satisfaction of her forgiveness. So, when Prince Joffrey had come, apologising for his actions, Sansa had forgiven him, returning to the young girl who dreamed about chivalry and a dashing Prince to take her away.

Sansa was brought out of her thoughts by Edward, who still wore an expression of hurt and anger.

"I thought you didn't like him."

Sansa knew he was right, but her Northern stubbornness didn't want to let her fall back to forgiving him again.

"Maybe I do." Sansa tried to appear unwavering, hoping it would work. But in her mind, she was starting to question herself.

Do I truly like the Prince?

Had she forgiven Joffrey out of want for his attention? Probably not, in truth. She still remembered how horrible he could be, and she didn't forget about Lady, how he had started events that led to her death.

Then why did you accept him?

Out of spite against Edward? Most likely.

But why? Another thought passed through her mind. Why did you do that? Why did you spite him?

Sansa knew why, deep down. It was something she wasn't sure she wanted to admit to herself.

Because I… I… because he upsets me.

Why were you so upset? Why does he affect your feelings so much?

Again, Sansa knew the answer, but she didn't want to acknowledge it, out of fear, stubbornness, embarrassment, she didn't know.

Despite the turmoil going through her mind at her feelings about Edward, the young Captain decided to cut the bullshit, his tone stern and accusing.

"No you don't. Why did you kiss him?"

Sansa stood there for a moment, unable to come up with a reasonable excuse.

"I… I don't know." the Stark girl answered hesitantly, her resolve weakening.

"Yes you do." Edward took a couple of steps forward, his eyes shining from the late afternoon sun. Sansa would have thought they were gorgeous if it wasn't for the fact he was rounding on her like a predator on a wounded prey.

But you are a wolf, Sansa reminded herself. Wolves do not cower.

"I kissed him because he asked for forgiveness for his actions, and as my betrothed, we are to be married one day. I thought it best to forgive him and improve our relationship." Sansa answered, lying through her teeth, but standing firm.

Edward scoffed. "So all the times you came to me, worrying about whether he is worth your affections, or how he's not like the princes in the songs, you were doing it out of what? Attention? Boredom?"

Sansa again faltered, stuck for an answer. Edward capitalised.

"Am I really worth that much to you? Am I simply someone to run off to who is just there to provide support for your troubles?

"No!" Sansa instantly replied. "No…. you're not- you've never been that type of person."

"Then tell the truth, Sansa." Edward was a foot away from her, his eyes gouging into hers, forcing her to keep eye contact. It wasn't if Sansa could look away now if she tried. The tension was now thick, and heavy. "Did you forgive the Prince because of what happened last night? In spite of me?"

Sansa could only nod at Edward's pinpoint accuracy, her words failing her. Her stubborn resolve to prevent Edward from getting to her had failed. She cast her gaze down, as she confirmed Edward's question, but after a few seconds, she dared to meet Edward's gaze again. But instead of what she thought would be anger, she saw only sorrow; dejected and empty. His face was crestfallen and guilt-ridden.

Edward's smooth voice was now only a whisper. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise what I did would affect you so badly. Please, forgive me, my Lady."

The sincerity in Edward's voice and words were enough to break Sansa's heart. Looking into her best friend's eyes, she knew he cared for her.

Perhaps more than Joffrey….

She knew deep down that her affections were changing, that Edward was starting to be the one that she was dreaming about, rather than the Prince. She felt Edward's hand brush against her's, a silent request to hold it. She was so tempted to let him, judging by the heavy breathing and rapid heartbeat, but just as she was about to give in, another thought made its way into her head.

It is not becoming of a Lady to be infatuated with someone other than their betrothed.

Septa Mordane's stern voice alerted Sansa to the situation. Here she was, slowly allowing herself to give in to her feelings for the young man standing in front of her, when just earlier she had allowed her betrothed to kiss her and therefore she had chosen Joffrey.

What would Mother say?

That final thought forced Sansa to move out of the personal space of Edward, abruptly making for the door, her face flushed and head swimming with embarrassment and fear.

"Sansa!" Edward exclaimed in surprise at the sudden changes in mood. He had almost managed to get to the source of the problems he and Sansa had, but suddenly she had just burst out of his way, hurriedly walking away from him.

Sansa knew she had to explain herself. She didn't want to tell Edward how she felt about him, as that would lead down a path that would cause her, her family, and even the Prince dishonour. But also, in truth, she was scared. She hadn't expected to be feeling…. like this for the young Cassel, when she already was betrothed to the heir to the Iron Throne. Again, she berated herself.

You shouldn't be feeling like this. He is not worthy.

Choosing Joffrey over Edward, she spoke, putting on her most courteous and neutral expression.

"I'm sorry, Captain, but you must excuse me. I forgive you for your actions last night, but I'm afraid that I am bound to my future husband. He is my betrothed. Enjoy your evening."

Edward didn't even get the chance to reply, as Sansa quickly left, leaving the young Cassel to wonder why she was now choosing the Prince, and what he done to deserve this rejection.

This is what you wanted! A dashing Prince, your King and husband to be! Someone brave, and gentle, and strong….

Shaking the mental image of Edward out of her mind, Sansa almost found it funny. Even when she was trying to think about her future with her Prince, all she could think about was him. It did make her wonder, though, had she always felt like this for him?

Did it really take an engagement to the most eligible person in all Seven Kingdoms to make you realise how you truly felt?

I am to be Joffrey's. Our betrothal has made me realise I am his. Sansa tried to convince herself.

Stop lying to yourself, Joffrey is not who you truly lov-

Before she could finish that thought, hoping Arya sitting on her right didn't notice her blush, the sound of her father's cane coming in to her room alerted her to the present. Ned stood there, an apologetic look on his face, which helped to mask the pain he still felt from his injured leg. It was later that evening, when the sun had set and the candles were lit. It had been a few hours since her talk with Edward, and yet Sansa found herself even more conflicted than before.

"I'm sending you back to Winterfell." Ned said.

"What?" Sansa and Arya both shouted at once, demanding an explanation. Arya sounded more outraged, but Sansa was more in disbelief, although there was a hint of something else…. Relief? Scepticism?

"Listen-" Ned began, but was cut off by Arya.

"Are you dying because of your leg?" the young Stark girl asked, fearful. "Is that why you're sending us home?"

"What? No-" Ned answered, incredulous at the imagination of his youngest daughter.

"Please father, don't send us home. You can't, I've got my lessons with Syrio. I'm finally getting good!" Arya said, trying to make her father change his mind.

"This isn't a punishment." Ned finally managed to get a word in. "I want you both back in Winterfell for your own safety."

"Can we take Syrio back with us?" Arya asked, hopeful.

"Aye, if he accepts."

"But…." Sansa eventually spoke, her face showing an expression of slight confusion, her quiet words portraying such. "What about the Prince? Aren't I supposed to marry him?"

Ned took a moment before speaking, his voice warm and caring, a voice he only ever used for his daughters. "Sansa, when you're a little older, I'll make you a match with someone who is worthy of you. Someone who's brave, and gentle, and strong."

Brave and gentle, and strong. Once more, his face came up in Sansa's mind, and she couldn't take it anymore, her words rushing out of her mouth subconsciously, before she could process them. Her futile attempt to convince herself that Edward was not the one was now there for her father and sister to hear, her mouth betraying her thoughts.

"I don't want someone brave, and gentle, and strong! I don't want Edward, I don't want him, I want Joffrey! I-I'm supposed to be his Queen, and give him beautiful lions with beautiful golden hair!"

The room was silent for a while after Sansa's sudden outburst, with Ned and Arya looking at each other as if to confirm that they heard the same thing.

"Who said anything about Edward?" Arya asked, immediately addressing the point that confused her and Ned.

It was at this point that Sansa realised what she had said. Her eyes widened in shock as she look at both her father and Arya, her mouth opening and closing as she failed to find words, her face crimson red.

"I-I-I…"

"Sansa…" Ned said, bringing her frightened gaze his way, trying his best to be quiet and caring, as he started to guess why his guard Captain was mentioned by Sansa. "... is there something you're not telling us?"

Ned didn't get an answer, except for the storming out of the room from his eldest daughter, who was too embarrassed to withstand being questioned by both Ned or Arya.

Arya took this opportunity to laugh knowingly. "I think Sansa has a crush on Edward." She said, grinning at the prospect of using this priceless information to tease her sister with. Even Ned couldn't stop a small smile forming, a mental note to speak to Edward and Sansa planted in the back of his mind.

"Go on, get your Septa and help your sister pack her things. Go easy on her." Ned half-warned Arya, who nodded as she made to leave the room, but stopped on the threshold, suddenly curious.

"Why did Sansa say that Joffrey's children would be lions? He's a stag, isn't he? A Baratheon. The lion isn't his sigil."

Ned normally wouldn't have paid much mind to Arya's curiosity, but the question screamed at him of something behind it. Something hidden in plain sight. He looked at Arya, who still waited for an answer.

"Go to your sister, Arya, and pack your things." Ned waved off his daughter, who went to her room to pack, a little annoyed at not getting an answer.

Ned, however, needed to find the answer behind the question, and he think he knew where to find it.

It now was starting to make sense, horrifying sense. Ned went to his cluttered desk, and found the book he had received from Pycelle a few weeks ago. He opened it, piecing together the puzzle, looking for the House he needed to find. Targaryen, Umber, Martell…. until halfway through the book, he found his friend's family pages. House Baratheon.

He went through some of the ancestors, labelling them as the same traits; blue eyes, black hair. Orys Baratheon, Axel Baratheon, Lyonel Baratheon, Ormund Baratheon, Steffon Baratheon, Robert Baratheon…. all black of hair. Until he reached the newest entry.

"Joffrey Baratheon…. golden haired."

Ned couldn't believe it. He sat back in his chair, staring at the distance, not focusing, too engrossed in his thoughts, and the shocking discovery he had just made. The discovery that Jon Arryn possibly died for.

Ned steeled himself, as he knew that this truth that he had now found would have to be brought to Robert. His duty and honour compelled him to. But he also knew that this would only bring about more turmoil, for him, his family, his household, for the realm.

There you have it, people. Ned finally knows.

There is also the small discovery of Joffrey and his siblings being incest bastards. Things are hotting up for sure.

I hope you guys enjoy this, I really appreciate your reviews and feedback, be sure to leave some if you can, it really helps.

I hope the Sansa and Edward scene isn't too confusing, I probably wrote it quite poorly, do let me know what you think of it, and this chapter.

Basically, Edward is mad and upset at Sansa kissing Joffrey because 1. He loves her 2. She did it to get back at him for getting angry at her.

Sansa, meanwhile, is now starting to address the feelings that are developing for Edward, despite the fact that she is trying to force herself to stick with Joffrey. She doesn't like Joffrey, not anymore, but the fears that she may dishonour herself and her family by choosing Edward over the Prince caused her to push Edward away. She's also afraid of her feelings, because she always thought that she would fall in love with her betrothed, not a lowly Captain who has no land to his name. She is going to learn a lot of lessons about the real world, as most of you will know.

Please follow, favourite, and leave a review, it would make my day. You guys are honestly the best, I'm so grateful for you all reading my humble story.

Next chapter hint: The King is dead, long live the King. Joffrey, Stannis, Renly; Ned must choose a side, his honour on the line. War is stirring. Loyalties will be tested.

Love you all.

bobberoo98