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Eddard Stark was a man who did not like to regret his decisions. They were all made with honor in mind, honor that was both his and the House Stark's. He tried to do what was best for everyone and was a good man for it.
Too bad such things weren't tolerated in the South.
Robert falls in battle and Ned takes the throne for the memory of his dear friend and beloved sister. What he hadn't expected was the sheer poison of the Southron courts or the golden lioness he was set to marry after Catelyn's sudden death.
…
The Iron Throne was uncomfortable.
That was the only thought that passed through Ned's mind as he shifted subtly on it, trying to find a more suitable position that wouldn't have a half-melted sword's hilt digging into his thighs. Or a dull edge scraping his calf. Or something worryingly pointed poking a rather sensitive area. As it was, he was failing.
Miserably.
To make it worse, the whole court was awfully stuffy. Ned resisted the urge to rotate his neck to ease the kinks, terribly aware that such behavior would have the gossip-mongers lips flapping like a loose sail in the wind. It had been bad when he'd decided to plop his ass on the throne and was steadily getting worse as he fumbled and blundered his way through court sessions.
It wasn't that Ned was slovenly or crude. It simply was the fact that the North and South were nearly two different entities. Ned's furs, long hair, and brusque mannerisms was alien in the perfumed Red Keep and he was made aware of it every passing day.
"…the coronation ceremony will be held tomorrow at noon, my king."
It was through utter willpower that he abstained from flinching at the reminder of the ceremony. All his sensibilities strained at the thought of the pompous, ornate procedure which would surely be followed by a wasteful, expensive feast. The land was just recovering from a bloody war and here was Ned prancing about in silk tunics and eating lemon tarts.
But of course, he couldn't say that.
Mustering up his darkest, most severe expression, Ned said, "The ceremony will be held publically and the remnants of the feast will be given out to the citizens of King's Landing."
The septon gave him a bewildered look. "My king, our… ah, kings have always been crowned in the-"
Our kings. Ned's expression deepened into a fearsome scowl and the septon began to sweat. "The realm is still reeling from the turmoil of the rebellion against the Targaryens," he stated coolly, dark eyes boring down on the watery brown of the septon, "And inspiring confidence and hope in the new king holds greater precedence than tradition."
"But-but, my king-"
"Are you questioning me, septon?" Ned leaned forward on the chair, using his bulk and added height to impose over the other man. "Do you question your king?"
He swallowed his words so quickly that his jowls quivered with the movement. "N-No, never, my king," he stammered.
Ned could hear the shocked moue that started in the back of the court. It rippled in a wave, falling still whenever his flinty gaze passed over them. It seemed that the memory of the mad Targaryens still held the people in a stranglehold.
Ned felt a bitter taste in his mouth at the thought of ever being alike to the murderer of his brother and father.
"Carry on," he said gravelly, "On to the next order of business, then."
I can almost see why the Targaryens go mad, he thought darkly as the septon scampered away with a flutter of fabric. Anyone would, dealing with the South.
A lord swept forward and behind him followed a gaggle of young girls. Some looked to be of age, others were so young they still had the dredges of puppy fat clinging to their cheeks. Ned had a sinking feeling in stomach when he realized what they were here for and almost sighed.
"My king," the lord started eagerly, "I present to you my daughters…"
Oh for… When would they realize he was already married?
…
It was nearing suppertime that Ned was finally allowed to lift himself off the Iron Throne. His whole body ached from the unforgiving metal as he slowly moved down the stairs. His skin itched and felt hot under the flamboyant layers of his black and grey tunic and he almost wished he could tear it off and dive into a ice pool like he'd used to do with Brandon and Benjen when they were children.
It was some while later that he realized the clicking of his heels wasn't the only one in the large hall. He slowly swiveled around with a hand on Ice, eyes scanning the columns and tapestries until he located a fairly tall man just beyond the shadows of a tapestry depicting the whole of the Seven Realms.
"Hello, my king," called out the old lion of House Lannister. "I assume you are going to the dining hall?"
Ned's grip on Ice relaxed marginally as he nodded assent. The older man's measure pace brought him to his side quickly and they began to depart the hall together.
"What is it you wished to speak of?" he inquired guardedly.
Tywin's answering look seemed to sweep over him before he deigned to reply. "Our house's coffers are the greatest among nobility," he said finally after a heavy silence, "And we have been – and will continue to be - your staunchest supporter."
Sacking King's Landing, murdering Elia Martell and her children, and sending your son to break his oaths to kill his king, Ned thought drily. Staunchest supporter indeed.
"I acknowledge the efforts of your troops," Ned said steadily, "But, that is not what you came here to discuss with me, is it?"
One corner of Tywin's thin lips twitched up at that. "Sharp mind you have there, my king." He looked away to study a tapestry before his green eyes caught Ned's gaze again. "But you are right. It concerns my daughter."
"Ah." Ned said flatly. "Marriage. You are the fifth lord to approach me with that, did you know?"
"Oh, I'm sure," the lord said. "What lord would give up the opportunity to have his daughter crowned Queen of the Realm and the mother of the future king? Only a fool would not try."
"And only a fool would try to marry his daughter to a wedded man," Ned replied harshly. "I have a wife already. Catelyn Tully became a Stark long ago."
Tywin did not reply to that. The two walked in a tense silence before stopping before the dining hall. Tywin clasped his hands behind his back and stood with a straight back before Ned. The light played on the few blonde strands that remained in his hair, looking eerily similar to the gold threaded through his rich red summer tunic. Although his face was framed by wrinkles, his eyes were still fierce as he pinned Ned with a hard stare.
"I say this again, my king," he said softly. "No lord would give up a chance for his daughter to be Queen. And not even your current marital status can save you. Be wary, because the South is very different from the North."
With that, he swept away with a flourish and the clack of his heels faded into mere echoes when he turned the bend. Ned watched his back disappear, feeling a heavy dread pool in his gut.
When Ned finally sat at the dining table, his hunger was long replaced by a gnawing trepidation.
Be wary, because the South is very different from the North.
...
Because why update my other stuff when I can do something completely different???
(BTW, no the title is not symbolic other than the fact that there is no actual snow, literally, in the south.)
