Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, woke with a start. The last thing he remembered before waking up was being drugged and dragged out of his cell by two men who spoke with distinct Essosi accents.
Eddard had been awaiting his trial in the Black Cells after being betrayed by the whoremonger Baelish and being turned over to the Lannisters like a common criminal. While in the Black Cells, his knee had festered, causing the older lord more and more pain all while he worried about the state of Westeros. Before he had been thrown in cells, his household had been slaughtered, Sansa had been captured by the Queen, Arya had run off, and Robb was calling the banners of the North.
Eddard looked around, trying to figure out just exactly where he had been brought. The room was clean and airy, with the sun shining through a high window. His bed was comfortable, built low to the ground. His knee, now wrapped in bandages, was propped up on a mound of pillows and blankets. Amazingly, it no longer ached but felt numb, a welcome reprieve for the aged lord. Lord Stark's hand came up to his face, feeling his beard and hair. Both had grown untamed and wild, meaning that some time had passed since being taken from the Black Cells.
The door opened up to reveal a small, mousy man with a mop of curly hair and a pleasant face. He grinned when he saw Eddard awake, setting down the tray he had been carrying on a nearby table.
"Lord Stark, it is good to finally see you awake," he said happily, pulling a stool up next to the bed. He pressed a cool hand to Ned's head and throat, nodding slightly. "It seems you made it through the fever."
"Fever?" Eddard asked, his voice raspy. The man quickly handed the Lord of Winterfell a mug of water.
"Drink slowly," he instructed. Eddard nodded and sipped the cool water, savoring the feeling of it running down his neck. When he was finished, he handed the mug back to the man, nodding his head.
"Thank you," he said gratefully. "Now, who are you and what do you mean by fever?" he asked.
The man gestured to Eddard's knee. "Your knee was badly infected, my lord. When you were brought to me, I feared I was going to have to take the leg itself, but you Stark's seem to be made of sterner stuff," he said with a grin. "The infection in your body gave you a nasty fever, one of the worst I'd ever seen. You were unconscious for weeks. I did all I could to coax you through it, keeping you cool and hydrated. Trying to keep your body healthy enough to fight off the terrible sickness. Once in a while, you would start shouting in your sleep, scaring the seven hells out of me more often than not."
"What did I say?" Eddard asked, trying to keep the heart-stopping fear from showing on his face.
The man made a vague gesture with his hand. "You mentioned your daughters, Sansa and Arya, your son Robb. Once, you mentioned your late sister Lyanna and the promise you made to her," he explained.
Eddard felt a cold chill run down his spine. "Did I mention what promise?" he asked worriedly. The man shook his head.
"No," he said firmly. "It seems even your unconscious mind was determined to keep that secret." He moved down towards Eddard's knee and began unwrapping the bandages. "Your knee gave the first indication that the worst was over. I noticed it began to heal a few days ago. The same night, your fever broke. I knew that it was only a matter of days before you finally woke up." he took a moment to devote his attention to the injured knee, moving the joint gently as he made sure the knee was healing correctly. When he was satisfied, he quickly changed the bandages, wiping a thick, slightly yellow paste on the first bandage he put on. "This is a concoction I created when I was at the Citadel," he explained. "It's a jelly form of milk of the poppy. Just as maesters use the liquid form as a painkiller, the gel does the same, numbing the injury so that it can both heal properly and not cause the person pain."
Eddard nodded. "Thank you," he said again. "Cersei was very literal when she said she wanted to let me rot in the Black Cells." he japed drily.
The small man laughed lightly at his joke. "Unfortunately for her, it seems your knee will heal just fine Lord Stark. You will be able to walk again." his face then became very stern. "However, your body just overcame a terrible ordeal that would have killed most men. You are not fully healed, and it will take some time before you are. Until I say otherwise, you must walk with the aid of a cane and must be very careful with what you do. No riding, no running obviously, no weapon work. You can not put that leg under any sort of pressure until I say otherwise." he said, his voice full of authority and command. Eddard nodded dutifully.
"I understand," he said. "You never answered what your name was."
The man smiled and extended his hand. "Tomas," he said pleasantly. Eddard took his hand and shook it.
"Thank you, Tomas," he said gratefully. "Now, where am I?"
"You're in Braavos." a strong voice came from the doorway. A man was leaning in the doorway. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a muscular frame. His hair, a dark grey color, was worn long, with a single braid running down the center. His beard was the same color and covered his jaw, gathered under his chin in a tight knot. "Tomas, give us some privacy," he ordered. The small healer nodded and left, leaving the two men alone. The new man closed the door behind him and grabbed Tomas's stool, placing it in front of Eddard. "Nice to meet you, Lord Stark."
Eddard raised an eyebrow. "Who are you?" he asked. "How did I get to Braavos?" the man held up a hand, stopping the flow of questions from the injured Stark.
"Allow me to speak to Lord Stark, and I will explain everything," he promised. "You were rescued by my agents in King's Landing, placed there when we discovered that you were named Hand of the King. We watched your tenure with a cautious eye. As you know, Starks are not known to flourish in the south." he said this with a knowing look. There was something in the man's voice that made Eddard think that he knew more than he let on.
"When my agents told me that you had been betrayed by the Master of Coin, Petyr Baelish, and taken prisoner, I knew I had to act quickly," the man continued. "I told my men to take you here, to Braavos, for your own protection. Since you have arrived, my personal healer, Tomas, has been watching over you at my instruction." he finished. "He is the best healer in all of Essos, you are in great hands."
Eddard took in all this information with a thoughtful face. "Why did you save me?" he asked. That was the biggest question on his mind. "Why bring me here? Why heal me?"
The man smirked slightly. "Lord Stark, I will get to that in a second," he said, dodging Eddard's question. "First, we must speak about your sons."
Eddard raised an eyebrow. "Sons? What about them? Is Robb alright?" he asked, suddenly worried that something had happened.
The man chuckled. "Quite well, my lord. When your imprisonment was announced, your son Robb came south with the might of the North, helping free the northern Riverlands from a host commanded by the Kingslayer. After an impressive display or daring, your son routed the lannister army and showed himself to be a dangerous player in the war. That is when your….er….bastard appears. He rode all the way from the Wall to stand by his brother's side."
"He deserted the Watch!" Eddard said worriedly.
The man shook his head. "Not so. According to my sources and the boy himself, he left the Watch before ever taking the Black. Do not worry, my lord. He is no deserter."
Eddard's breathing came down as the man said this, relieved that Jon would not be executed. Unfortunately, a new worry appeared in the back of his mind as he thought about his sister and what might happen to the boy.
"Go on," Eddard said.
"As Robb treated with Renly, who had declared himself king, and his friends in the Stormlands and the Reach, the Blackfish and Jon took the fight to the Westerlands. Things get a little hazy in Robb's case, as Renly was murdered and Robb himself was injured. Thankfully, your son pulled through and managed to gain the loyalty of newly free Reach and Stormlands. While in the North, Jon made a name for himself as the 'White Wolf." the man explained.
Eddard frowned. "Pledged their loyalty?" he asked, confused. "What do you mean? They allied with Robb?"
The man smiled slightly. "Vassal is more likely, my lord. You see, in order to save face, Joffrey and his mother murdered a man who bears a passing resemblance to yourself, claiming it was you. Westeros bought it, and in the aftermath of learning of your 'passing', the lords of the North and Riverlands declared Robb King in the North."
Eddard was speechless. How could Robb become king? Stannis was Robert's rightful heir. Not even Renly, though Eddard held no ill will towards him, had the right to wear the crown.
"What happened to Stannis? He is Robert's rightful heir," he asked.
The man grimaced. "Understandable, but Robert's brother was not well-liked, and had also turned to a foreign religion. According to your son, he was also responsible for Renly's murder. Again, the facts are hazy as to Stannis's death, but he too died the night before he was about to face off against Robb in battle, hence how your son claimed the loyalty of the stormlords." the man stopped, collecting his thoughts for a moment. "My lord, I will explain as quickly as possible, but only if you do not interrupt me. I will do my best to answer all your questions after."
Eddard nodded. "Of course, please, explain."
The man took a deep breath and dove into the story. "I will admit, there is not much left to tell. For whatever reason, Theon Greyjoy returned to his father, and the ironborn attacked the North. This happened while Robb was in the Reach. Theon, who was helping lead the invasion, also took Winterfell. In an effort to protect the North, the Blackfish, who was leading the force of northmen and riverlanders, sent Lord Bolton and the Freys north to help." the man sighed. "Tywin Lannister convinced both houses to turn their cloaks. Bolton's bastard took Winterfell, capturing Lady Stark and Theon Greyjoy before burning the castle to the ground. It is unknown what happened to the rest of your family, my lord, but the ironborn who followed the Greyjoy boy were all burned to a crisp. Your sons learned of the treachery when Robb returned to Riverrun with his new allies of reachmen and stormlords. Here is what the current situation is now: Robb marches towards Harrenhal to face Tywin. Jon Snow and the Blackfish are marching north, most likely to take back the North. And Lord Tarly marches west to finish Ser Brynden's conquest of the Westerlands. Oh, and the Martell's seem to have joined the Lannister cause for reasons unknown."
Eddard ran a hand through his greasy hair, trying to wrap his mind around all that had happened while he had been away. It seems that months have gone by while he had been in a long, feverish sleep. His sons were fighting not only the Lannsiters but the Greyjoys and Boltons as well. Robb had been named king and Jon now commanded a host of his own.
To make matters more confusing, Tywin bloody Lannister somehow convinced the Martells, who have a blood feud against the man, to fight for him. It was all so much to understand in a short time span.
A knock on the door interrupted the two men's conversation. It was Tomas, and he was pushing a strange contraption that looked like a chair on wheels. He had a regretful look on his face.
"Lord Captain, my lord, the others have assembled," he said, nodding towards the mysterious man.
The dark-haired man nodded. "It would seem this discussion will have to wait for a short moment, my lord." he gestured to Tomas. "Bring the chair forward."
With a grunt, the man slipped his arms under Eddard, lifting him slightly and moving him so that he sat in the chair. When he was seated, he elevated on leg rest so that Eddard's injured leg was straightened.
"What is this?" Eddard asked, looking up at Tomas.
The young man grinned like a child with a new toy. "It's an invention of the Imp, my lord," he explained. "It's a mobile chair. The man invented for your son Bran, and the Lord Captain's agents sent a drawing to me. It's ingenious, and I'm rather dumbfounded why others hadn't thought of it sooner."
"Tomas, please bring Lord Stark out to the balcony. I will be there shortly." the man ordered, striding out of the room.
The young healer pushed the Lord of Winterfell through the halls of the building, which were as large and airy as the room he was just in. The walls were adorned with pieces of art and trophies of past battles, mainly ragged banners. After a few twists and turns, Tomas pushed Eddard out onto a balcony that looked out over Braavos. To his right was the palace of the Sealord, a majestic and pristine looking building that made the Red Keep seem like a log cabin. In front of him stood a large, heavily guarded building that Eddard couldn't place.
"The Iron Bank," Tomas said, following Eddard's eye line. He then pointed off to the left. "And just in the distance there, you can see the Titan." indeed, the healer was correct. The vast stone warrior could be seen, his feet hidden in a thick blanket of fog.
"What is this place?" Eddard asked. They were no doubt in the central part of the city, where many of the richest merchants and lords would be located. The building seemed to take up several blocks and was built several stories high.
"This is Snowfall, my personal estate." the man said, walking up from behind Tomas and Eddard. A small group of men and a woman followed him, all wearing armor with weapons at their sides. The man himself now wore armor, with the chest plate covered with a plain white tabard.
Eddard nodded to the man. "A beautiful home." he complimented. "Now, who are you?"
The man bowed low. "I am the leader of the Company of the Rose, and these are my lieutenants."
Eddard's eyes went wide, then narrowed. "Company of the Rose?" he said curiously. "You're northmen."
The man nodded. "Indeed we are. We are cousins, distant relatives to many of the northern houses. We came to Essos when Torrhen Stark bent the knee to Aegon Targaryen, but not because we refused to bend the knee, but because we were ordered to."
Eddard raised an eyebrow. "Ordered? Why would Torrhen order his people to leave?" he asked.
The man placed his hands behind his back as he began to explain. "Torrhen feared that Aegon would go back on his word and attack the North with his dragons. So, thinking of the safety of his people and his family, he ordered every family in the North to send a second or third son, even a cousin if need be, to Winterfell. There, Torrhen formed the Company of the Rose. They were given two instructions. The first, survive. As a mercenary group, we had to keep up the act and take on contracts. We only accepted deals where we knew we would win and not take too much of a beating. Our second command was this. To return to Westeros when the North finally had a Stark King again. Your son, Robb, has been named King, and we mean to pledge our loyalty to him as was commanded of us over 300 years ago." the man ripped off his tabard, revealing the direwolf emblazoned on his breastplate, the same that Eddard wore on his own. "Torrhen's youngest son, Rickard, was put in charge of the Company. He was my ancestor. I am Derren Stark, leader of the Company of the Rose, simply known as 'Derren' to the rulers of the Free Cities." he explained. "And these are my companions."
The woman stepped forward first. "Alora Mormont," she said gruffly. She certainly had all the characteristics of a Mormont. Tall, broad, and had a spiked mace swinging below her bear cloak. The next man was nearly a giant, with a massive stone mallet slung across his back that looked like it would take two grown men to lift.
"Dwan Umber." he declared, striking his chest. One by one, each person stepped forward, stating their name.
"Camren Glover."
"Bryn Karstark."
"Stefon Manderly."
"Myka Hornwood."
"Dannis Dustin."
"Jarrad Flint."
Finally, there were only a handful of men left who hadn't stepped forward. Derren gestured for the first man to step forward. He nodded slightly to Eddard, his voice almost a whisper. "Maxar Bolton," he said before stepping back.
Derren gestured for another man to step forward. He was slightly built, like Tomas, but had a quiet confidence about him. He too talked quietly, but not in the same whisper voice as Maxar. "Alec Reed, Master of Spies," he said.
Finally, there left only six men. Derren spoke again. "As you know, many houses have gone extinct in the North since Torrhen bent the knee. These men are all that remain of those houses. This is Jorah Fisher, Warne Frost, Carsen Ryder," he nodded to Tomas, "Tomas Greenwood, and finally Trevyr Redstark and Dorin Greystark."
Eddard couldn't believe it. For years, he had felt as if the North had been missing something. He had seen the numbers, going all the way back to the King Who Knelt, and felt as if they were off. Now it all made sense. Torrhen had weakened the North immensely when he sent off so many people to Essos, but now it had proved fruitful. Not only were weaker houses like Bolton and Dustin stronger than before, but houses that had gone extinct like Ryder, Frost, and Fisher were back in the fold as well.
"This is….unexpected," Eddard said, trying to find words. "What should I call you? Lords? Captains?" he asked.
Derren shook his head. "Our given names are fine for now," he said easily. "If we must be addressed by a title, let it be 'captain'." he said.
Eddard nodded. "Very well. Now that I know who you are, what do you plan to do now that Robb is king?" he asked.
Derren leaned against the railing, crossing his arms. "We will return to the land of our ancestors. We will travel to Westeros and lay our swords at the feet of Robb Stark and declare him our king." he gestured to the man named Jorah Fisher. "When we heard that Robb had been declared king, Jorah commissioned 50 warships to be built here in Braavos. They are almost done, the finished ships hiding just north of here in a cove. 50 warships, all capable of carrying the company across the Narrow Sea to Westeros."
Eddard nodded. "I see," he said quietly. "Where will you land? Robb is in the Riverlands."
"We will land in the North and help Jon Snow retake your homeland from the Boltons and Greyjoys before heading south to meet with your son," Derren explained.
"When do we leave?" Eddard asked, clearly anxious to return home.
Derren raised a hand. "Peace cousin. We still have many ships to finish. Another two weeks or more will see them completed. Then we will sail in all haste. There is another thing you should know."
Eddard looked at the Eastern Wolf, already bombarded with information. "What?" he asked.
"Word has been sent from our informants in Pentos. It seems that the last remaining Targaryen, Daenerys, has managed to create an army out of the Essosi sellswords companies. The Golden Company, the Company of the Cat, the Long Lances, the Second Sons, the Stormcrows, the Windblown, and all the rest. To top it all off, she also has more than a thousand Dothraki Screamers at her back and 8,000 Unsullied." he informed Eddard. "She managed to swindle Pentos out of its fleet and now sails for Westeros. She also somehow has three dragons."
Eddard leaned forward in his seat, unsure if he had heard his cousin clearly. "Three dragons?" he asked. "Impossible, dragons have been gone from this world for generations."
"Even still, cousin, this is the truth," Derren said, not backing down. "But there is no reason to panic. The dragons are just babies, not even the size of dogs. The Targaryen girl will not attack Westeros with the creatures that helped Aegon the Conqueror. If she wants to use her dragons in battle, then she must wait a year or more before they can even be a credible threat on the battlefield." he explained.
Eddard looked at him. "How do you know this?" he asked curiously. Dragonlore was not a well-known subject in Westeros. When Aegon Targaryen invaded Westeros, his family had already been on Dragonstone for more than a century, raising the three dragons. Any knowledge that they had tried to bring from Valyria was long gone.
Derren made a vague gesture with his hand. "I've served as the leader of the Company of the Rose for ten years now, serving under my father for fifteen. I have been all over Essos in that time. I read a lot about dragon lore when I visited Jinqi while on an assignment. The Shadowlands to the east of there are said to be the original home of the dragons before the Valyrians found them." he explained. "However, we still have the advantage. No one in Westeros knows of her arrival, except the Spider, who I have always suspected of being a Targaryen loyalist. No one but us. When we deal with the Lannisters, then we can prepare for the Targaryen girl and her dragons, helped greatly by the knowledge learned in Jinqi."
Eddard was impressed. It seems Derren had this all planned out. "Alright then. We leave in two weeks," he said. He hoped that by then, his knee would be healed and he would be able to fight.
Tomas must have been reading his thoughts. "In two weeks, you should be able to at least stand with a cane, and if you're very lucky, without one. However, I know that you will want to start training as soon as possible. That is why Alec's agents grabbed this before they left the Red Keep." he said, producing a large object wrapped in brown cloth. With a flourish, the small healer revealed the object. Eddard gasped.
"Ice," he said quietly. It was the ancestral sword of the Starks, thought to be taken by Cersei during the attack on his household in the Tower of the Hand. Now the giant sword was handed to him, wolf pelt sheath and all. "I never thought I would put my hands on the hilt again."
Derren nodded. "The message sent to your son Robb said that Ice was still in the possession of House Lannister, a lie of course to deceive both her father and Robb, trying to give House Lannister as much leverage as possible, much more than they actually had," he explained. For an instant, Derren's eyes flickered upwards, behind Eddard, before coming down again. "But the sword was not all we took that belonged to you."
"Father!" A small voice cried out before slamming into the good side. Tears sprang up in Eddard's eyes as he embraced his daughter, stroking her hair softly as he whispered in her ear.
"Arya."