Fatherhood was already fraying his nerves, and his child hadn't even been born yet.
Eddard Stark wasn't supposed to be here, leading thousands of Northmen in a war against a dynasty that had been in power for three centuries. He wasn't supposed to be the Lord Paramount of the North, reigning over the largest region of Westeros. That was supposed to be his father. He wasn't supposed to be married to Catelyn Tully with an heir to the North on the way, either. That was supposed to be his brother. No, Eddard Stark was supposed to be at Winterfell, serving his father and in time his brother as they ruled, maybe holding a small keep of his own in the distant future.
But Rickard and Brandon Stark were dead at the hands of Aerys Targaryen, and Catelyn Tully was at Riverrun, heavy with his child. A quick wedding to a woman he didn't know, an awkward wedding night, and then he'd left, returning weeks later with his father's—no, his—bannermen to find his wife pregnant. He'd spent a few weeks there as well, Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully forming their own men as Robert Baratheon evaded the men of the Reach and Aelor Targaryen to slip out of the Stormlands and merge with them.
Brandon would have handled the whole ordeal excellently, Eddard knew. He'd know just what to say to a young wife he was unfamiliar with, know how to make her laugh and feel comfortable with him. Eddard had not a single clue how to even begin that, and it showed in the awkward conversations—or lack thereof—he and his lady wife attempted to have. But Brandon was dead, curtesy of the Targaryen's, and Eddard was in over his head.
But the overwhelming sense of protectiveness he felt when he felt the babe she was carrying kick turned Eddard Stark into a different man. It fascinated him, knowing he'd had a part in creating the tiny life that his wife said thoroughly enjoyed keeping her up all night with his kicks. Even now, miles away, it was very nearly all the Northman could think about. Worry continuously nagged at him, fear that something would go wrong with the birth or that the child wouldn't even make it that long nearly driving him to a panic, and Eddard Stark did not panic. It shocked him how much he already cared for his son or daughter. Eddard would fight for that child, still unknown to him, until his dying breath.
A breath that might occur much sooner than he'd like, judging by the way things were going.
"Tywin Lannister is still a prisoner in King's Landing," Jon Arryn was saying, the rain riddling the canvas the war council sat under relentlessly. Eddard found himself missing not only Winterfell, but Riverrun and his stranger of a wife. At least she was warm. "But his brother Ser Kevan is leading the remaining Westermen with the loyalist army. It puts their numbers roughly even with our own, maybe a few thousand less."
"With a good number being veterans," Bronze Yohn Royce put in, bronze armor resplendent even if rather impractical. "Certainly more than we have."
"Veterans of what, a few slaughters?" Greatjon Umber put in with a short laugh of derision. The giant man with a giant as a sigil had given Eddard a fair amount of trouble when he'd first rallied the banners, but in the recent weeks had seemed to take a shine to the young Lord of the North. He was boisterously loud, but he also had a streak of undying loyalty Eddard hoped he could earn. "They haven't seen true war."
"Maybe not," agreed burly Hoster Tully, Eddard' new goodfather, "But they've seen more war than our men."
"My lads have seen war," chimed in Robert's booming voice, sitting at the head of the table with a horn of ale in his big right hand. It was his third of the meeting, and Ned knew his friend was only beginning. "We routed three armies in three battles in one day."
"We know," Jon agreed, keeping his tone calm though Eddard knew the man he saw as a second father was as tired as the rest of them of hearing about the only true rebel victories of the war. "Each of those were small skirmishes, even smaller than some of the second Targaryen's sons."
Eddard spoke before Robert could, noticing his friends scowl. Robert was quick to anger and quicker to forgive, especially Jon Arryn, but he absolutely hated everything to do with a Targaryen ever since…
Ever since the new King of the Iron Throne had ran off with Eddard's sister. I'll find you Lyanna. I promise. "They are camped at Harrenhal, but spies indicate they intend to march for us. We should reach the ford before they do. Afterwards we can only hope they decide to attack us there instead of taking another crossing."
"They'll hit us there," Robert said confidently, his brush of anger already forgotten. "They want us dead, we want them dead and that ford is in between us; that river will run red with those Targaryen cunts blood."
Eddard caught the glance Jon Arryn gave him. Robert's obsession with killing the Targaryen brothers was growing more and more manic with every passing day. Wanting Rhaegar's head was something Eddard could understand—he only need think of his sister's face to feel the same anger Robert seemed to live on—but Robert's rage seemed to extend to every living being with close Targaryen ties. More than once he had ranted to Eddard about his desire to kill not only the King but his brother, the reported new Hand of the King.
While Aelor was by no means innocent, Eddard personally thought him to be a decent man. He had been friendly and sociable at the Tourney of Harrenhal, and when Rhaegar had crowned Lyanna instead of Elia Martell the Queen of Love and Beauty no man had been more outraged. The Dragon of Duskendale's rage had even trumped Brandon's. Aerys and Rhaegar were the true men at fault, yet that mattered not at all to Robert. Eddard feared just how far his old friend would go.
The rest of the council was procedure, reports of the growing number of sick men and reiterating the same strategy they had decided upon weeks ago, all amongst Robert's more and more drunken spouts of anger directed at anything Targaryen. Denys Arryn, Jon's kinsman and heir after Aerys executed Elbert Arryn soon after Brandon, made the mistake of complimenting the Dragon of Duskendale's skill at arms. Only Eddard's firm grip on his strong arm and Jon's calm chiding keeping Robert from rising from his seat in rage, the big Storm lord resorting to drinking more and more ale and wine.
As soon as they were dismissed Ned stepped out into the rain, small Howland Reed materializing out of nowhere to walk beside him, the tiny Crannogman having been Eddard's constant companion since Lyanna's abduction. The Lord of the Neck had instantly grown enamored with Lyanna in the way only Eddard's sister could ensnare people, and though Howland was as calm and somber as any man Ned Stark could ever remember meeting, it was clear that he was as concerned with Lyanna's safety as maybe even Stark himself. "Robert grows more and more impatient."
Eddard nodded, the rain pelting his face and furs as he made his way towards where his Northmen were camped. "Each day his anger increases."
"A man who speaks loudly and often rarely says anything of value."
The Lord Paramount of the North chuckled lightly. "A true statement. He fears for Lyanna."
"As do I." The Crannogman was quiet for a moment. "We will find her, my lord. We will."
"I certainly hope so," Eddard Stark said. "I most certainly hope so."
"Have you ever loved something more than life itself?"
Aelor Targaryen looked up from horn of ale he held in his hand, wondering if he had misheard his friend's deep voice through the sound of the rain pelting the roof overhead. The Prince's silvery hair was still damp and the gash on his shield arm was bound tightly with bandages, aching almost in unison with the still healing gash over his eye. Aelor supposed it didn't help that he kept reopening the injury, but it was hard to take things easy in a war. Especially when it's being orchestrated by a madman.
"Say again?" Aelor asked Renfred Rykker, the big man sitting on the other side of the room having pulled him from the mud and his stupor earlier, stubbornly refusing to leave the Prince in afterwards. Aelor was glad for his lifelong friend's interference though; he knew it had shaken the men to see their normally competent Prince so disconcerted. Renfred had hustled him off to his chambers in the Barracks Hall, smoothing the situation over expertly before sending Alaric for a maester to bind the Dragon of Duskendale's arm. He'd warded off the well-meaning but unneeded men asking about their Prince's condition, allowing only Alaric and Prince Oberyn to enter and remain in the room. The four men—well, three and half—sat in the candlelight, quietly nursing horns of ale or chalice's of wine.
Renfred looked up, smiling lightly. "I asked if you have ever loved something more than life itself."
"My daughters," Oberyn said, the Red Viper sprawled back in a chair as if it were his chambers they were gathered in and not Aelor's. Of course Aelor imagined if they were in Oberyn's tent the surroundings would be much different, as Aelor had a stunning lack of posion and naked bodies, something Oberyn always seemed to have in great supply. The Dragon of Duskendale's own temporary quarters were sparse, a cot and his armor the only embellishments besides a few chairs Alaric had rounded up from…somewhere. The lad was quite resourceful when it came to scavenging.
Aelor snorted. "The ones you know about, anyway."
The Dornishman glared good-naturedly, forging ahead. "A man knows his children when he sees them. I certainly knew mine, and I loved them from that moment on."
"How sweet," Aelor chimed in, ribbing his friend in an attempt to take his mind off of his brother's madness. "One would never know you were able to kill a man with a needle prick."
"A fact you had best remember, my friend," the Red Viper said with smirk, taking a drink from the chalice he held.
"Dahlia Bywater," Alaric chimed in quietly, instantly blushing heavily when Aelor choked on the ale he had been drinking.
"Whoa now," the Prince said between coughs, "You've never mentioned her."
"No," the squire said with the tiniest of smiles. "But I've thought of her plenty."
Renfred and Oberyn laughed, both raising their glasses to the boy in salute. Aelor held his tongue on all the questions he had, chief among them who Dahlia Bywater was, but the Prince had held his tongue. Alaric was being more and more outspoken as of late, and the Prince saw no need to push him. Instead, he turned back to Renfred. "Why do you ask, Ren?"
"Malessa is pregnant."
"Congratulations, my friend," Oberyn said with a smile that Alaric echoed, raising their glasses again in another salute.
Aelor however stared at his friend as if he'd grown two heads. "How did that come about?"
Oberyn laughed. "If you don't know that, my Targaryen warrior, I know plenty of people who would gladly show you." The Dornishman purposefully left plenty unsaid just to annoy the Dragon of Duskendale, Alaric ducking his head in embarrassment even as Aelor gave the Prince a universally known hand gesture telling him exactly where he could go with his remarks.
"I mean you haven't seen Malessa since we marched for King's Landing from Duskendale. I'm fairly certain you would need to have been there more recently for this to be a recent occurrence."
"It's not a recent occurrence," Renfred said, shrugging. "You were right about the chance of a wedding night giving me an heir. It appears it has. I have kept it quiet for fear of things going wrong, but she wrote me from King's Landing saying she may give birth any day now. Her father is abusing his position as regent of the city to give her everything humanly possible to keep her comfortable."
Aelor smiled widely, joy for his friend momentarily overruling his depression at his brother's loss of reasonable judgement. "Strong shield, Ren. I'm happy for you."
"Stronger sword. I love that child more than life itself already, and I haven't even spoken more than a dozen words to his or her mother. I never thought I could be a father, but now…now I can't remember wanting anything more." The Dragonlord took a breath to say something in reply, but Renfred cut him off, leaning forward to peer at his lifelong friend intently. "I mentioned it now because that child is something I would fight to my dying breath for despite it not having even been born yet. That child gives me hope; gives me something to not only fight for, but live for."
Aelor looked away, thoughts of Rhaegar's proclamations and plans for the future running through his head, but Renfred didn't let his mind stray. "Look at me, Aelor. Whatever the King said that disconcerted you so doesn't matter. Whatever his reasons for marching us into a trap and whatever your reasons for agreeing to it do not matter. Think of Aegon, think of Rhaenys. Think of Elia. Whatever the King thinks is going to happen, whatever he has planned, can be handled, because you have them, and they are worth whatever sacrifice we make."
The Dragon Prince blinked, unused to Renfred having this much to say about anything, but it seemed the Lord of Hollard Hall wasn't finished. "Every man here has something to fight for. Oberyn has his daughters, all two dozen of them." The Red Viper snorted at the big man's exaggeration but was watching the two men intently, clearly agreeing with what Renfred was saying. "Alaric has this Dahlia Bywater, whoever the lucky lass is. I have Malessa and my unborn child. And you have your family, children you think of as your own no matter their true paternity. Children we both know you would die for just as quickly as I would die for mine."
Renfred leaned back, voice completely confident. "Whatever the King has to say doesn't matter to me, Aelor. Whatever has you so upset doesn't make a difference, because this world is going to be fine. No matter the King's plans or lack thereof, the world will be just fine. We could all die tomorrow, something more likely than not, and the world will be fine. Those very things we are fighting for will see to that." The Lord of Hollard Hall suddenly shoved the Prince none too lightly in his shoulder, knocking the Targaryen Prince backwards. "So snap yourself out of whatever shithole you've gotten your mind into, my lord. We have a war to win, not for us, but for them."
Aelor stared at his lifelong friend for a long while before holding his hand out. "Thank you, Ren."
Rykker grabbed his forearm, Aelor closing his hand around Rykker's own. "Don't thank me, Aelor. Win the war for me. Win it for them."
Aelor nodded. Bugger Rhaegar, bugger the prophecy, bugger Robert fucking Baratheon. I have a Prince and Princess to protect.
For the first time in a long while, Aelor remembered just what he was warring for, Elia's face filling his mind's eyes and Rhaenys' laugh so real in his ears he could have sworn she was next to him. And suddenly, things didn't seem all that bad. No, things didn't seem all that bad at all.