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The Wizard of Fury Chapter 26
🕑 Added 2025-06-25 15:59:02 +0000 UTCThere was something off about the Kingsroad. The grand train carrying the King and his subjects trampled down it like no one was in their path, which no one was. The few farmers and other smallfolk they crossed once they’d passed the great castle of Harrenhal had been skittish and wary of the travellers, even after the proclamation that it was the King passing by.
Ned struggled to realise what was wrong until it was too late. The uncertainty of smallfolk around members of noble houses was not entirely unfamiliar to him as the Warden of the North, but his reputation had given his smallfolk a degree of trust in coming to him with whatever issues plagued him. Few around Winterfell ever failed to greet him in his passing, and he knew that this was the norm for the other lords spread throughout the north. Certainly, seeing the King of Westeros was another thing entirely, but Ned should’ve noticed that they weren’t merely scared of meeting someone so far above them in the hierarchy of the world.
They were scared of death.
Death was a thing that always lingered in the back of one’s mind, regardless of how much anyone denied it. The deaths of his older brother and father had left a permanent mark upon his soul. He forever worried about what his death would leave behind for his children, his wife, and all those who supported his reign. It stuck to him like toffee and refused to let go. Even in its quietest moments, it was always there, lurking.
He’d been one of the first to draw his blade when the sound of the attack came. Jory, the captain of his household guard, was right there alongside him with blade in hand as they brought their horses around the train of carts and waggons slowly meandering down the Kingsroad. A few score of men came bursting out of the nearby tree line, and Ned descended upon them before they could get close to the Royal Wheelhouse.
It was a surprising thing as to how easily his blade cut through flesh. Ice, the Valyrian Steel blade belonging to House Stark, cut through anything with an ease that was terrifying to behold. His simple longsword, albeit expertly forged, sliced through leather and cloth without so much as a hitch to jerk his arm about. His cut was clean and smooth through the collarbone of the first man he crossed, and all such that followed after was little more difficult than that.
There were perhaps sixty men in total attacking them from what Ned could see; it was far too few a number to the four hundred or so travelling with the King. Even though fewer than a quarter of them were fighters, each one was far better trained and equipped than any man attacking them.
Ned spotted dark-skinned Southerners, the type from Dorne or the southernmost portions of the Reach, intermingling with foreign-born fighters from Essos and light-skinned cutthroats from the Riverlands and the Westerlands. It was an eclectic band of fighters, the type that would make up a mercenary company or simply an ill-fit bandit group. Still, even though he could identify their composition, it was perplexing to imagine why they were here at this point in time. He’d heard of no troubles plaguing the King as he made his way up to Winterfell.
As the battle neared its pitiful end, King Robert finally made his appearance out from the Royal Wheelhouse. His breastplate barely contained his impressive girth, and the great hammer in his hands clearly hadn’t been forged with his present body in mind. Robert could hoist the hammer easily, it was true, but his form was atrocious. He stormed out into the mud with a furious look on his face, his eyes searching for a target that he could slam his hammer into.
“They’re all dead or gone, Your Grace,” Ser Mandon Moore said, his white Kingsguard cloak fluttering out around him. Blood dripped from the tip of his blade into the dirt.
“Seven hells,” Robert spat. “Who was it then? The ironborn? Some Tyroshi army?”
“They appeared to be nothing more than bandits, Your Grace,” Ser Preston Greenfield chimed in as he approached. He was dragging a corpse at his side and threw it down before the King. The skinny boy that landed unceremoniously there disturbed Ned greatly. He looked to be no older than seventeen, and no one should die that young. “We’ve already sent out our men-at-arms to scour the region for any remainders.”
Ser Preston’s answer didn’t please the king in the slightest. His sour look was shared amongst all around him, but only Ned knew the truth of it. Battle was the one thing that Robert loved above all else. Missing out on his very first taste of it since the Greyjoy Rebellion stung deeply, and it was entirely due to his weight gain that’d prevented him from donning his armour faster so that he would have joined the fray.
Ned had scarcely believed the sight before him when Robert had arrived at Winterfell to ask him to become his new hand. Given that he’d travelled so far north, the title was no true surprise to him, but seeing how much his friend had let himself go was quite the surprise. Beyond his physical appearance, he looked utterly exhausted and wore cloying perfume. He’d become a shell of the man he’d once been.
“I’ll ride out with them,” Robert insisted. “Bring me my horse.”
“There won’t be much to find, Your Grace,” Ned said. Surely, the bandits were already off and hiding again. “Best we get on our way down the road.”
Robert scowled fiercely and looked around for any sign of support. There was betrayal in his eyes when he looked at Ned. “I’m the King, and what I say goes damn it.”
The Kingsguard looked a touch bit wary at the king, but Ned didn’t back down as most others would. “If that was the case then we’d still be fighting a war to this day.”
Robert’s fury vanished in an instant as he let out a peal of laughter. “Maybe then you’d learn to not hold me back. Mayhaps I’ll show you my old strength at the tourney.”
“It’d be a poor show for you to join the melee,” Ned pointed out. “None of the other men would dare strike at their king.”
Again, Robert’s anger returned. It was disturbing to Ned to see just how easily it came and went. Madness was a trait said to run in House Targaryen. Perhaps the Iron Throne had contracted some of that madness and passed it on to all those who sat upon it.
“Cowards, the lot of them,” Robert said angrily. “I remember a time when men weren’t afraid of upsetting their liege lords, when they could say their piece and quarrel with them and still remain allies at the end of it all.”
That was only you, Ned wanted to say. You were the one who quarrelled with Jon Arryn, the lord who fostered both Ned and Robert in their youths. You would storm about and make a great show of your passionate rage whenever you disagreed with him on the smallest of matters, but once your anger faded, you scarcely seemed to care about or even remember whatever insults you levied against Jon Arryn and instead acted as though everything was perfectly fine. It was only due to your charisma and Jon Arryn’s forgiving nature that you weren’t ever punished for your outbursts.
“Any man who struck a blow against the king might receive your approval, but there would be many who would question his judgement,” Ned pointed out wisely. “Besides, if the worst were to happen in an accident…”
“Then my son would inherit the throne,” Robert said. “But that wouldn’t happen. No man can best me on the field of battle.”
“Maybe once, years ago,” Ned replied.
Finally, Robert looked down at himself and cursed. “Too fat for my armour. Too slow to the fight.” He kicked up some dirt as the Kingsguard pointedly avoided looking directly at Robert.
“You can change that,” Ned said carefully so as to not offend his king. “Take up training again, cut back on the drinking.”
“Cut back on the drinking,” Robert scoffed. “Ale and wine are what give me my fighting spirit.”
“Then spend more time in the yard at least,” Ned suggested. “At least then you’ll get the chance to hit people again, even if they won’t hit you back.”
“You’d hit me back if I commanded it,” Robert said confidently.
“A tame blow, perhaps.”
“Then you’ll be joining me in the yard for training,” Robert declared.
“Your Grace,” Ned sighed. “My duties as your hand will keep me quite busy as it is and I—”
“Will join me in the yard because I’m the king and what I say goes,” Robert said resolutely. “Besides, this was all your brilliant idea. You ought to be there to see it through. You can even bring your bastard to train with us. The lad does seem quite taken with training with his blade.”
Over the king’s shoulder, Ned scanned down the train of carts, carriages, and horses, wondering where Jon was. Sansa was cooped up in the wheelhouse alongside the queen, Prince Tommen, and Princess Myrcella, but Jon would never be invited to such things. Instead, he rode alongside the other men that Ned brought down from Winterfell to become his household guard in the capital.
In truth, he was still uncertain if he’d made the right decision in allowing Jon to join them. For a while, it’d seemed that his interest in taking the black like Ned’s brother Benjen had would finally lead him to choosing that path in life, but something had changed to make him turn away from it. Ned worried if someone had spoken poorly of the Night’s Watch around him or pointed out the difficulties he’d face there. Regardless, Jon hadn’t elaborated further, and that’d left Ned with a difficult decision.
His wife, Catelyn, would never allow Jon to remain in Winterfell while Ned was away, so he was left with the choice of taking Jon with him or sending off to another house. He feared that the latter would only embitter him further to his lot in life and break down his connections with his trueborn children even further. The former came with its own set of challenges, however.
Jon’s true parentage was a matter known only to himself and Howland Reed—one of the lords sworn to him who’d fought alongside him in the rebellion. Anyone else who had known about it was dead now, and Ned was keen on it not spreading any further.
Bringing Jon to King’s Landing was a risk in the sense that it was possible, however slim a chance it actually was, that somehow Jon’s secret could be revealed. Ned didn’t know how it could happen, but that didn’t mean that he could rule it out as a possibility.
Still, none of this mattered right now. He’d made his choice and was fully prepared to see it through. And if Jon’s parentage happened to be revealed… King’s Landing had quite the harbour. A ship could take Jon far away to Essos. Or perhaps up to the Night’s Watch itself where he’d be protected.
The king returned to the wheelhouse. Within minutes, the journey back to the capital resumed.
The remaining days passed with ease. Ned spent his time lingering close to the wheelhouse in case Sansa ever had need of him. Her direwolf, Lady, trotted along close by as well, unwilling to truly leave Sansa’s side even though the queen refused to allow the direwolf into the wheelhouse. He also visited Jon whenever they stopped for rest. It pleased him to see Jon getting on well with the men-at-arms and Jory Cassel, his captain of the guard.
Robert too spent more time outside of the wheelhouse instead of getting drunk inside of it. He rode upon his steed and liked to venture off with Ned and a couple of his Kingsguard and simply run wild through the rolling hills for a little while. He seemed much more at peace like this.
However, his calm did not last forever.
On the day that King’s Landing finally came into view, Robert refused to heed the request of Ser Mandon.
“I’ll not be cooped up inside of the wheelhouse as we ride back into my city!” Robert declared. “I shall ride in alongside Ned at the front.”
Undoubtedly, the Kingsguard weren’t keen on the idea of their king riding at the very front where he’d be such an easy target for another attack, but they also knew that they’d have an easier time keeping him safe if such an attack were to occur rather than arguing the point with him.
So, Ned spoke up for them.
“Are you certain that’s wise, Your Grace? We were attacked on the Kingsroad and it’s possible that more—”
“Piss on this ‘Your Grace’ nonsense,” Robert growled. “And yes, I am certain. I won’t be seen as meek or cowering by my own people.”
Ned frowned in disapproval. Robert’s willfulness had always existed, especially when it came to showing off his strength and pride, but he was the king now, which came with certain responsibilities and duties to the realm. There was little he could do now, however, and so chose to instead pay extra attention to any potential threats.
Robert’s large destrier trotted along faster than Ned’s horse did, forcing him to continuously press his horse to keep up. Robert was all flushed and excited as the walls surrounding King’s Landing came into view. The city watch stood vigilant as farmers and travellers trickled into the city through a massive gate.
Riders from their train rushed ahead, pushing their horses to a gallop as they headed for the city walls.
“Make way!” The riders cried out. “King Robert has returned!”
The crowd opened up before them, and Ned and Robert rode side by side into King’s Landing.
Ned found the capital to have changed much since his last unfortunate visit here. The narrow streets and countless strange faces were familiar enough, but the abject terror that’d once plagued King’s Landing had been replaced with splendor and jubilation. Thousands of smallfolk swarmed the market stalls that’d been erected throughout the city to accomodate all of the food brought in by visiting houses–most of them being from the Reach. There were sweet melons and foreign spices that made Ned’s nose perk up in interest, but such things could come later.
“Look at this,” Robert boasted from his horse. “There’ll be the greatest tourney that Westeros has ever seen, and everyone will reap from its bounty.”
That much seemed to be true. Even in the greatest summer months when shipments of distant delicacies reached the shores of White Harbour and travelled their way up to Winterfell, few of the smallfolk had the means by which to enjoy them. Ned made it a point to buy up as much as he could and to share it with those in and around Winterfell on a celebratory day, but the gratitude and love he received from that paled in comparison to what he was seeing now.
In a matter of seconds, the size of their train of carts and carriages began to draw significant attention. Several of the smallfolk recognised Robert, who was smiling down upon them. Had it not been for his poor physical shape, he would’ve looked like a glorious king returning from battle.
“Seven blessings to you, Your Grace!” A woman cried out from the crowds that they passed by.
“Good King Robert!” A vendor shouted with a wave, drawing more attention from the people around him.
Robert lapped up the adoration with a big grin. He always loved playing the part of the hero, and so let his natural charm carry him as they continued forward towards the Red Keep. Ned, however, was not so eager to smile and wave. His eyes dashed back and forth in search of threats. The narrow alleyways and thin windows would make for perfect vantage points for a bowman to strike from. But for all of his fruitless searching, all that Ned was left with was an anxiety that something was bound to happen. He felt eyes watching them, malicious ones, but nothing came of it.
Only once they passed through the inner walls of the Red Keep itself did Ned finally begin to relax. And the sight of a familiar face only did more to help soothe his nerves. They’d received word in Winterfell that Stannis had been attacked by some unknown figures and that his wounds had been grave. It was good to see him up on his feet unaided.
“Brother,” Stannis Baratheon said as Robert descended from his steed with the help of his squire. He bowed dutifully. “The throne is yours again.”
Still riding the high of the smallfolk’s love, Robert actually embraced Stannis in a hug. In all his years, Ned had never seen Robert truly do anything quite like that with his brother. Even Stannis seemed surprised by it. It took him a moment before he returned the gesture.
“I see that you didn’t burn down my castle in my absence,” Robert laughed heartily as he pulled back.
“Of course I didn’t,” Stannis replied, returning to that familiar cold tone of his. “But there are important matters that you must be apprised of at once. There are a number of lords and ladies who have eagerly been waiting to greet you, and then there has been a matter with the City Watch struggling to handle the growing crowds.”
“Save them for later,” Robert replied. “We’ve had a long day of travel, and I’ve quite the hunger that needs to be sated.”
“We have a feast prepared in the Great Hall for your arrival,” Stannis informed him, sounding annoyed at being brushed off. “But there is something that we—”
“Ned?” Robert called out. “You’re my hand now. You handle this.”
Ned was looking forward to filling his stomach as well, but he understood that his duty came first. The silver badge of a hand that now held his cloak in place signified his position and represented the responsibilities he had.
“We can speak now, Lord Stannis,” Ned said as he climbed down from his horse. He would see to it that things continued to run smoothly here as Stannis undoubtedly had. “Where would you like to begin?”
“In your chambers,” Stannis replied. “There is much that we need to discuss.”
