Ahhhhh! Congratulations on 2k! I'm so happy for you! You definitely deserve it! Thank you for doing this fun celebration! Could I request 11 with Ned Stark?
Promises Swept and Promises Kept
Game of Thrones - Eddard (Ned) Stark x fem!Reader
11. Well, I’ve narrowed it down to two possibilities: yes and no.
Wordcount: 3.4k (welp, I give up. I am clearly incapable of 1k word limit. Sorry, I’m the worst)
Warnings: angst, ugh just all the angst, and fluff at the end, talk of war and death, but nothing outside canon, takes place at the start of Robert’s Rebellion
Masterlist
A/N: There are only like 5 Ned Stark imagines out there. WHY??? Ned is such a beautiful soul. I feel so so blessed to have gotten to tackle this and I clearly apologize for the emotional rollercoaster below. Also, sorry for two GoT pieces in a row. I’m doing these in the order they came in.
You knocked lightly on the door to the solar even though you had been summoned. The door was ajar and you could just make out the form of Ned slumped over the desk, a crumpled version of himself, so small and withered compared to the massive force that was the man you were used to seeing so noble upon this seat, Lord Rickard Stark. But Lord Stark was dead now. And so was the young Lord Brandon. Your betrothed never seemed such a boy as he appeared now holding the mantle of Winterfell and the North upon his shoulders.
You knocked a second time, this one with more force, and with it Ned straightened his back and beckoned your entry.
“My lady, sit,” he said in a tone that mimicked his father’s voice so. The sweet nothings you were used to hearing from his mouth, soft late at night as you held hands upon the battlements, Ned begging you not to return home with your father’s men but to stay by his side until the end of his days, were gone. You were not meeting with your Ned but with Eddard instead.
You did as your lord commanded, settling your skirts as you leaned into the hard leather. Everything about this sight was imposing from the stout wood of the desk to the tension of Ned’s jaw to the stacks of parcels and parchments which created such a visible divide between you and the man you loved. You straightened your back, trying to appear the strong partner you knew he needed now in this time of loss and of war, but you felt yourself falter when he didn’t even look up to meet your gaze.
Ned lifted a hand to dismiss the maester you hadn’t even realized was waiting in the corner. He nodded and closed the door behind him, his chains making a gentle chime down the hall until they could be heard no more. But still, Ned did not look at you.
After several moments of awkward silence, Ned stood and walked over to your side. You smiled, thinking maybe he had wanted to wait for you to be properly alone before he offered your fingers a gentle kiss but he didn’t touch you. Instead, he grabbed the letter at the top of the stack, the seal already broken, and thrust it forward into your hands.
You looked at him in question but he had walked now to look out the window into the battlements below. The Lord’s chambers looked out into the courtyard, towards the stables and the western gate. The view of the hillsides stretched on your miles and if somehow the eye could continue on the horizon, you’d be able to see your own home. You had wondered often when you looked out on the horizon from your chambers in the years since your marriage had been promised if Ned was looking out at you too. And if the world were not curved, you might be able to look at each other. Only now, when Ned was indeed looking the way you had hoped all these years, it was to look at anything other than you.
You sighed and opened the parchment, prepared for news of another death or maybe a call to arms. Your heart clenched at the thought that it might be news regarding Lyanna, whom you loved as a sister, but when you took in the fish of the seal, you found yourself thoroughly confused.
As you read, you couldn’t even take in all the words. It was a jumble of phrases, each of which stabbed at your heart.
“Lord Stark… Catelyn the title of Lady of Winterfell… military support… promised in writing and word… Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell… shall see through and marry my daughter…”
The words were becoming even harder to read as you realized tears were rolling down your cheeks. Lord Hoster Tully wished for Ned to marry his daughter to fulfill the promise of her marriage to Brandon? Had the Lord not known of Ned’s forthcoming marriage? Of you?
You had been at Winterfell for well over a moon now, had come racing with your father and a few loyal men the instant you had received the raven regarding the Warden of the North’s demise at the hands of the Mad King. You had wanted to offer Ned comfort. Your dad had wanted to see you married before the inevitable horns of war were blown, but neither had yet to happen and now you understood why.
“Ned, my love,” you called, which made his back visibly stiffen, breaking your heart in one fell swoop, “what is the meaning of this?”
Ned turned and looked at you for the first time since you had entered his solar. His eyes were rimmed in red and his skin was much paler than you would have liked. Ned was often out in the woods hunting or working on his swordsmanship in the yard. His skin was often kissed by the sun just as you would have liked to kiss it yourself. You recalled the man you met upon your first visit to Winterfell just a moon after you first bled. Ned smiled beside his siblings as you exited the carriage. He kissed your hand with the softest lips, never letting his eyes travel away from your gaze. His cheeks had been red when Brandon practically had to pull you away from him so you could greet Lyanna and Benjen properly. You remembered wondering if it was a sunburn or blush upon his skin, hoping beyond hope that it was the latter. And when he stumbled in his sword work, finding himself completely pinned under his brother’s training blade when he saw you watching from the covered walkway above, you knew for sure it had been exactly that.
You were betrothed before the next feast day.
“It means that if we want the support of the Riverlands, I must marry Catelyn Tully,” he said, sounding much more firm than he looked.
“And how do you intent to respond?”
Ned looked at the floor and swallowed. “Well, I’ve narrowed it down to two possibilities: yes and no.”
You felt the lump growing in your throat as you fisted your skirts. You hoped you would be able to get out words.
“Just like that,” you said, “One Lord comes calling and you consider throwing me away? Do you not love me anymore?”
“It’s not like that—“ Ned spit his words with what could almost be anger but he stopped himself. He took short steps forward before falling into the chair beside you. “It’s not about love. It’s about the promise my father made to Lord Tully and—“
“And what about the promise he made to my father? Huh? Or the promises you’ve made to me? You promised to marry me, Ned, to love me, to be my lord husband. Am I just supposed to ignore all those letters you’ve written, all those late nights by the fires hoping the servants might not see our stolen kisses, the times you’ve told me you’ve missed me and how you’ve longed for the day I’ll be in your bed and the names you’ve already considered for our children?”
You were screaming now, not so much at Ned for considering following through with this request – if Ned was anything, it was honorable – but at all the other insane circumstances that you knew would pull this world apart but that you truly had believed wouldn’t be able to take away what you and Ned shared. That was the rule wasn’t it? The oldest marries for politics, the middle marries for peace, and the youngest serves the realm? You were a daughter of the north, a house that served and honored the Starks for years, a house with a bounty of resources and wealth to match the Starks in power if you didn’t share your northern values. You and Ned were the smart match for the North if not for your own hearts as well. Would the North not want a lady of their own blood running their largest stronghold and providing council to the man who called it his?
“Sometimes the promises of a boy do not align with the responsibilities of a man.” Ned said the words to the floor, though his hand seemed to fumble upon the armrest of the chair, clearly desiring to hold yours but unsure if it wise given his indecision.
As you sat together in silence, the tears were flowing in earnest. As you hiccuped to catch your breath, Ned made his decision and reached over your skirts. He caught your fingers in his own and squeezed them, strong and sure the way you hoped you might be as man and wife someday, a partnership that leaned on each other for strength.
“I don’t know what to say,” you managed.
“Nor do I.”
Ned’s other hand came up to run along your jaw and soon your head was resting against his shoulder, his own tears wetting the crown of your head.
“Stay with me, Ned,” you whisper, feeling desperate for the man before you.
“What you are asking of me could tear apart the realm.”
“Any more than Rhaegar already has?” you spat, the anger flying through you more and more by the second, by each moment Ned doesn’t simply say yes to you.
A moment of silence passed as you held each other before you must break it.
“Is there nothing we can do? Can’t you promise something better to Lord Tully?”
Ned gave a sad laugh, “What greater honor is there for his daughter than to be Lady over the largest of the Seven Kingdoms?”
“Queen?” you said without thinking, though at the words, Ned’s grip upon your back tightened before he began rubbing gentle circles into your flesh, his hand a little lower than would be considered proper had you not been alone. Even in this moment of pain, Ned gave you a little glimmer of what life might have been like as his wife if he ever gave you the pleasure. Your corset made the rub of his fingers feel like a ghost upon your skin. You wanted desperately to remove the garment, to allow him to touch your skin as he should. Part of you even wondered that if Ned could not be yours forever, perhaps he might be yours for a night, to allow you to taste the love you’ve sworn to all these years. But you knew Ned would never defile you so. His honor simply wouldn’t allow him to ruin you for your marriage bed, but maybe in a moment of weakness…
“I must leave at once, my lady.” Ned said the last words so quietly, fighting back pain. You hated to hear him so, but part of you was grateful that this hurt him too. “I must go give Lord Tully my word in person.”
“Will you return to me?” you asked, knowing how pathetic you sounded but honestly not caring.
Ned kissed your brow as he pulled your face away from his shoulder. He looked haggard, decades older than his years.
“I cannot say.”
You nodded. There was really nothing else you could do. Your eyes found your lap as you clasped your hands together. You loved the boy before you and as much as he was breaking your heart, you couldn’t bring it upon yourself to make this any harder for him in turn.
Ned’s hand found your chin and tilted your head upward, pulling you to meet his gaze once more. He looked like he wanted to say something but the words just were not there. Instead he gripped you a little tighter than you were used to and pulled your lips to his.
His kiss was tentative, soft and tender in a way only Ned could be. Ned was not one for many words – he never was – but the few fanciful phrases you were able to pull out of him over your engagement always came after moments like this, where he held you in his arms and took your lips against his when he thought no one could see.
When you finally gave in, leaning forward and tasting what you could of his glorious mouth, he poured his passion into you. It became the kind of kiss you assumed the common men spoke of when they praised whores. Ned had never given you so much of himself. His hands found your ribs and held you tight to him, pulling you from your chair and into his arms. He sat you upon his lap like a man carried his bride, caressing your sides as he explored your mouth with his lips and his tongue. You couldn’t stop yourself from holding tightly to his face, taking life and breath from him as if you would survive not a moment without it. The musk of him was setting your senses on fire and you felt the pain pull tight in your chest as his mouth left yours for only a moment, returning as quickly as it could to love upon your jaw and your neck with renewed vigor.
“Oh, Ned. My Ned,” you breathed as you held tightly to him. He was sucking upon your earlobe now but at the sound of the word ‘my,’ he completely stopped his movements. And after a quite moment, only your mutual breathing filling the void, Ned buried his head in your neck and cried.
The tears raked through his body, shook his core, and echoed in the room. You worried servants would come to check on you the boom was so loud but they seemed to know better than to open a closed door. All the pent up sadness, at the potential loss of you, the only constant left in his life after the death of his mother, his father, and his brother, the kidnapping of his sister and the war brewing just a few hundred miles south, was finally being released.
In your arms, Ned found the comfort to feel the pain he hadn’t felt since he put on the armor of Lord of Winterfell. And in your arms, he would leave it.
Minutes it took for Ned to calm down. And without warning, when his breathing grew stable, he picked you up and placed you on the settee by the window, allowing you to lie down among his things in his sacred space. He kissed your brow, allowing himself the chance to touch your soft lips, now red and puffy at his attentions, once more with his fingertips.
“I must leave Winterfell at once. And so should you.”
With strong strides, he walked towards the door, leaving you stunned.
Just as his hand found the doorknob, he turned to you.
“My lady—Y/N—I, I love you. No matter what happens, I know that I have never lied about loving you. I love you now and I venture I always will.”
And with that, he left his solar, and your life, for the great unknown. You sat for hours in that room, watching the stables and courtyard out the window until Ned and a handful of trusted men loaded up horses and began the long journey south to the Riverlands.
A year had passed since you last heard from Ned, not that you asked for any updates. Your entire energy had been focused on supplying the northern armies with food and shelter as they headed south and keeping the women and children of your keep warm and feed throughout the chaos. Ravens were few and far between, just the rogue notes from your men as they stopped at the inns on the high road, given you estimates of their needs and their returns.
The first you heard of Ned after he called upon your father’s armies just a week after your return home was a message that the Lord of Winterfell and his men would be resting at your residence on their long journey home, now that the war was won.
There was no mention of a Lady Stark.
You consumed yourself with preparations, daring not to ask too many questions about the fallout of the battles in the south. You knew of the destruction of the city, the death of the Mad King, and the downfall of many of the great houses but the specifics could be left until Lord Stark called the noble houses to his keep to inform them of the new regime running the Seven Kingdoms.
And so when you stood in the courtyard alongside your most trusted advisors, ready to greet your father and your lord, you were preparing yourself for the painful sight of him helping a pregnant Tully bride down from her carriage steps as well.
Ned and your father came riding through the gate together, though no carriage followed. You ran to your father with tears of joy, so grateful for the gods’ protection in seeing him safely home. And when you turned to Ned and he smiled at you, you hoped he might have found it in him for once to listen to his heart instead of his head.
But then you saw it, the tiny bundle in Ned’s arms, the dark head of hair so similar to his own and the little arms that fought to get out of the wool swaddling cloth. A true baby of the north.
A lump grew hard and heavy in your throat as you remembered yourself and dropped in your bow at your lord.
“My lord,” you said, gazing at the ground. You saw Ned’s fingers out of the corner of your eyes, helping to pull you back to standing. You took them and looked at the man who had your heart since you were but two and ten. He seemed sheepish, so different from the warrior you assumed he had grown into.
“Thank you for your hospitality, Lady L/N.”
“Lady Catelyn had a child?” you said with eyes down to the little boy, trying to hide the hurt in your heart at the thought that Ned’s first born would not be of your flesh and of your womb, a promise broken in exchange for another.
Ned swallowed, “Yes, she did, though this is not he.”
Your eyes flicked up to look at him full.
“The Baratheon babe is safely with his mother and father in King’s Landing.”
Ned was smiling full now, one of almost pride at you. Lord Tully was indeed willing to give up Catelyn’s place of Lady of Winterfell at the prospect of something greater. Ned took your council, the way a Lord should his lady wife. And the smile on his face let you know just now that he had spent a year fighting to guarantee that you could be just that.
Your heart swelled and you went to hug him, to shower him in the kisses you prayed you might be able to someday, but then the baby in Ned’s arms cooed again and you stopped yourself mid-motion.
And then everything came crashing down on your once more as tears filled your eyes. Ned fathered a bastard? The thought was so incongruous with the man you knew and loved. The idea of him sleeping with just anyone hurt even more than the idea of him finding another bride.
“My lady. My love,” Ned said, pulling your eyes to him once more, though the wheels of your brain just kept churning. His voice dropped to a whisper “I have never been disloyal to you. I would never choose to bring such shame upon your name. You will be my wife in truth and we shall only know each other for the rest of our days.”
“But—“ you began in protest but Ned’s body shot forward, keeping you close so his voice could maintain a whisper.
“How much did you love my sister, my sweet? Please tell me.”
You swallowed, feeling the loss of Lyanna acutely. “She was my closest and dearest friend,” you said in sincerity.
Ned smiled as he repositioned the baby so he might grip your hand. Taking a moment and rubbing his fingers over your knuckles, he continued, “Then, I need you to promise me that I can trust you with a very important secret.”
You looked down at the babe, at the dark hair upon his head and the cute button nose and the deep-set eyes so telling of his Stark roots. And immediately, like a candle flicking to life, it all made sense. You pulled Ned’s hand towards your lips and kissed it, nodding in turn as if your love for him was not confirmation enough, before taking the baby boy into your arms to surround him in motherly love.
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