Game of Thrones: Second Son of House Targaryen

Chapter 371: The Night’s Watch Ned Stark

When Ned's army from the North was nearly 100 miles from King's Landing, he chose to stop of his own accord. Tyrion soon arrived to meet him, accompanied by Catelyn, Sansa, and Arya. The Red Viper was also present, having requested to join on his own. He was curious about Viserys' attempts to persuade Ned to surrender.

In his view, Viserys had almost the same charm as his mother, who was in a difficult position. He believed Viserys could sway the moral compass of the Seven Kingdoms to forsake its honor.

The two sides met near the desolate Kingswood. The once-dense forest now seemed barren, as the dropping temperature had thinned its cover. Animals had grown scarce, and the occasional birdsong only accentuated the emptiness, making it feel devoid of life. As more creatures migrated southward, the people of the North, ever resilient, continued marching toward the ice and snow.

Sansa and her sister spotted the direwolf banner. Arya, filled with excitement, leapt from the wagon, only to be stopped by a Gold Cloak. Ned’s brow furrowed deeply, his expression as etched as stone. Even in moments of calm, his furrows remained, betraying nothing of his thoughts.

At that moment, he felt a twinge of guilt. Even Tyrion had thought he might exchange Renly for his family’s safety, but instead, the choice had fallen on the Red Viper.

Tyrion led Bronn and several Gold Cloaks toward Ned, and Ned walked to meet them.

"My lord Ned," Tyrion began, tilting his head, "I think we should sit. Talking like this is a bit much for my neck."

Two Gold Cloaks brought over chairs, though one was noticeably higher than the other. Tyrion had hoped to look down on Ned from his higher seat, but to his surprise, they were at eye level.

Ned was even taller than he had expected.

"So, the Lord has already made up his mind and chosen a new king?" Tyrion quipped, his sharp tongue as biting as ever. Ned, however, remained unfazed.

He answered plainly, "Once I return to the North, I will take the black and go to the Wall, renouncing my claim to the Lordship of Winterfell."

Ned’s words made Tyrion and Bronn exchange startled glances. Give up a lordship? The “Old Wolf” was making a choice that none of the city councilmen, so obsessed with fame and fortune, could comprehend. With this decision, Ned’s honor became unassailable once more.

"My lord!?" Rickard, standing behind him, gasped in disbelief. He had never expected Ned to make such a decision. The men of the North could hardly imagine their land without him. Could they really trust that red-haired boy, Robb, to lead them? He didn’t even look like a Northman!

As if he hadn't heard Tyrion, Ned spoke while the Lannister was still reeling in shock.

"I've come to trade hostages," Ned said calmly.

Tyrion was stunned by Ned's decision, momentarily speechless. His ambition had always been to claim Casterly Rock, to become the Lannister heir. Yet the man standing before him, a man who held something just as valuable—Winterfell—was giving it up as if it were nothing. For the first time, Tyrion felt utterly defeated.

"Well... they're all here," Tyrion muttered, his voice weak and unsteady.

He gestured behind him. Catelyn stood with one hand resting protectively on Sansa's shoulder, the other holding Arya's hand. Her belly, round and heavy with their sixth child, showed the passage of time since they’d last met. Sansa’s blue eyes and Arya’s vivid grey ones were filled with tenderness as they looked up at their mother.

In that moment, it was as if the entire world had been reduced to those two pairs of eyes. Everything else slowed—the fluttering banners, the swaying plants, all seemed to strain against the wind, as if trying to hold the moment in place.

"I've come to trade Oberyn," Ned said, breaking the stillness.

"Who?" Tyrion blinked, thinking he'd misheard.

"Oberyn Martell," Ned repeated, calmly enunciating the Red Viper's full name.

Nearby, Bronn looked just as confused. Neither he nor Tyrion could understand Ned’s intentions. Both had assumed that Viserys had offered Renly as part of the terms for Ned’s withdrawal. But no—this was the second time Ned had done something that left Tyrion completely bewildered.

"Are you sure?" Tyrion asked, still uncertain.

"Yes," Ned replied. "But I’d like to ask for permission to meet with them."

Ned’s gaze never left Catelyn. He didn’t look at Tyrion, didn’t waver. Something about the quiet intensity in Ned’s eyes stirred an unexpected memory in Tyrion. For a fleeting moment, Shae’s face flashed before him. No, not Shae—Tysha.

The girl his father had thrown to the barracks to be abused. Though Tywin and Jaime had told him Tysha was just a prostitute they’d paid for him to lose his virginity, Tyrion still remembered the details of his time with her.

Out of trust for Jaime, he had believed their story. But a small, insistent voice within him whispered that Tysha wasn’t a prostitute. She was a good, innocent girl... and she had been his wife.

Shaking off the memory, Tyrion sighed and finally agreed to Ned’s request.

Ned moved toward Catelyn, carrying one of the chairs himself. He gently helped her sit down, then quietly began explaining everything—why he had returned, the deal he’d made with Viserys, and his plan to take the black.

"Father, I want to join the Night's Watch with you so I can meet Uncle Benjen!" Arya exclaimed with innocent excitement.

As usual, she didn’t grasp the gravity of what the Night’s Watch truly meant. Ned smiled and patted her head affectionately, while Catelyn and Sansa couldn't hold back their tears.

Catelyn took Ned’s large hand and gently placed it on her swelling belly. "Pick a name for the baby," she whispered.

Ned felt the soft movement of the unborn child beneath his palm, and his heart stirred once more with a deep tenderness. To his family’s surprise, not only had Tyrion returned the Red Viper, but he had also agreed to let Catelyn and the girls go with Ned.

As the Northern army, a long black line stretching into the horizon, began its march eastward, Tyrion stood silently watching them leave. His heart was heavy with conflicting emotions.

On the journey back, he turned to Bronn and said, "You don’t need to stay in King’s Landing for now. Go to the Westerlands for me and find someone."

"Who?" Bronn asked.

"Tysha."

"Tysha?" Bronn repeated, unfamiliar with the name. "What’s her family name? What House is she from?"

"She’s just the daughter of a crofter. Find her for me," Tyrion replied, his voice quieter than usual.

...

Across the Narrow Sea, Melisandre, sensing the failure of her shadow assassin, collapsed into unconsciousness. The body beneath her red robes, which had been contorted and grotesque like that of a pregnant woman, now returned to its former graceful, restrained form, as if the monstrous transformation had never happened.

Littlefinger, her companion, dared not dwell on anything. After all, she still had his heart in her hands—literally. If she returned to Harrenhal, Robert might punish her for failing in her task. If she sought refuge at Rook’s Rest, Viserys would not show mercy, and Melisandre would likely perish.

After weighing his options, Littlefinger came to a conclusion. There was only one place left for him: the Vale. That was the domain of his former lover. If he could convince the people of the Vale to bend the knee to Viserys, he might secure himself a powerful position. In time, perhaps he could even control the Vale openly.

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