Hers Is The Fury

Winterfell

[Winterfell]

The Stark household was lined up, in order of age, awaiting the arrival of the king.

The king's party poured through the gates of Winterfell in a river of gold, silver and steel, one hundred strong.

Over their heads, a dozen golden banners whipped in the wind, emblazoned with the crowned stag of the House Baratheon.

This was followed by men carrying crimson banners bearing a golden lion, the sigil of House Lannister, the Queen's house.

A man, wearing the golden armour of the Kingsguard trotted in.

Behind him, a young golden haired boy, who must have been Prince Joffrey, and his guard, Sandor "The Hound" Clegane, with his dog-shaped helmet.

A wheelhouse, which likely carried the Queen and her remaining three children appeared.

Finally, a huge man approached, flanked by knights in snow-white cloaks. A black beard covered his double chin, but nothing could hide the belly that threatened to burst his doublet's buttons.

The large man struggled to dismount his horse, forced to use a small set of steps placed there by servants.

He strode over to his old friend, who had knelt down, along with his household.

He gestured for him to stand, which he did, his household following suit.

"You've gotten fat," Robert told his friend, to the shock of many.

Luckily this did not offend the Lord of Winterfell.

He let out a deep laugh, which the king soon joined, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug, then proceeding to gently hug Lady Stark and ruffle the hair of the youngest Stark boy.

"Nine years! Why haven't I seen you? Where the hell have you been?"

"Guarding the north for you, your Grace. Winterfell is yours."

He proceeded down the line of Stark children.

"You must be Robb," he shook the hand of the heir to Winterfell, continuing on to the eldest daughter. "My, you're a pretty one." She was all Tully; red hair and blue eyes. Next was the younger daughter. "What's your name?"

"Arya," the young girl replied, indifferent.

"Show me your muscles," the king chided at the second youngest son, Bran, who obliged. "You'll make a fine soldier."

The door to the wheelhouse opened, catching the attention of many as two young blonde children exited, followed by a tall blonde woman, who could only be the Queen.

The woman looked back inside the wheelhouse, muttering something before another figure appeared.

Only, this one had long curly, black hair, with silver streaks. Princess Morgana.

The last, and only other, person to have hair like hers was Princess Rhaenys, the daughter of Aemon Targaryen and Jocelyn Baratheon.

The Queen approached, stopping before Lord Stark, who bowed, kissing her ring; an act of pure formality. Catelyn followed her husband's lead, minus kissing her ring.

However, they were interrupted by the King.

"Take me down to your crypt. I want to pay my respects."

"We've been riding for monrth. Surely, the dead will wait. " Cersei remarked.

Robert gives her a hard look. Cersei stares back at him, uncowed. Finally Robert turns and walks away.

After an awkward glance at the Queen, Ned leads Robert toward one of Winterfell's old towers.

[Crypts]

Ned carried a lantern, illuminating the crypts, leading his friend down the path of dead members of House Stark.

"She's down at the end, Your Grace."

Between the pillars on each side; granite sculptures of the deceased, sitting on thrones, great stone direwolves curling at their feet.

"Tell me about Jon Arryn." Ned asked.

"One minute he was fine, and then ... b*rned right through him, whatever it was. I loved that man."

"We both did."

"He never had to teach you much, but me ... You remember me at sixteen? All I wanted to do was cr*ck skulls and f*ck girls. He showed me what was what."

"Aye."

"Don't look at me like that. Not his fault I didn't listen." They laughed, before Robert sighed. "You must wonder why I've finally come north, after all these years."

"Your inspection of the Wall is long overdue."

"The Wall's stood for eight thousand years. It can keep a while longer." Robert stops walking and turns to face Ned. "I need you, Ned. Down at Kings Landing. Not up here, where you're no damn use to anybody. Lord Eddard Stark, I would name you the Hand of the king."

Ned kneeled. "I'm not worthy of the honour."

"I'm not trying to honour you. I'm trying to get you to run my kingdom while I eat, drink, and whore my way to an early grave. Damn it, Ned, stand up. You helped me win the Iron Throne, now help me keep the damn thing. We were meant to rule together. If your sister had lived, we would have been bound by blood. Well, it's not too late. I have a son, you have a daughter. We'll join our Houses. Perhaps twice over. Morgana is far too stubborn for any of those Southern lords."

This surprised Ned. After a moment he shook his head and smiled.

"How long have you been planning this?"

"How old is your daughter?"

Both men laughed. Robert's face quickly grew serious.

"I nevr loved my brothers. A sad thing for a man to admit, but it's true. You were the brother I chose. We were meant to be family."

"I don't know what to say."

"Say "Yes"!"

"If I could have some time to consider these honors..."

"Yes, of course, talk it over with Catelyn, sleep on it if you must." He clapped his hands roughly on Ned's shoulders. "Just don't keep me waiting too long. I'm not the most patient man."

Ned stopped at the last tomb. There were more in the distance, waiting to be filled eventually by him and his children. But, for now, Lyanna was the last Stark to be buried here.

In front of them stood a statue of a beautiful, young maiden, with blind granite eyes.

"She was more beautiful than this," Robert remarked, kneeling and bowing his head. "Did you have to bury her in a place like this? She should be on a hill somewhere with the sun and the clouds above her."

"She was my sister. This is where she belongs."

"She belonged with me." He touched Lyanna's face. "In my dreams, I k*ll him evey night."

"It's done, Your Grace. The Targaryens are gone."

"Not all of them."