eachdraidh | CALLING A MEETING | LOCKED TO SEELIE

Lords, ladies, knights, and other honoured guests of the castle... I am Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, who joined your company as of the feast day which passed only days prior.

[ He looks a little haggard, dark circles grown under his clear eyes; but much improved from the worry-pinched figure who had spent much of the feast hunting for his family. ]

We have been brought from many disparate worlds for the purpose of this war, the War of the Shards; expected to cast our lots in the fighting at the behest of generous but poorly-evidenced monarchs. And the castle staff itself, while similarly generous and no doubt goodhearted, can offer us only so much information or direction. I have requisitioned the library and some of the attached study-rooms to hold a great conference of us, beginning at midday tomorrow. At this conference, I mean to make an accurate and detailed accounting of:

Our names, talents, and intentions regarding residence at the castle and regarding the war. It's my aim that all of this be made public knowledge, so that those of like mind can easier meet and plan with each other. Some of the study-rooms in the library will be marked for this purpose; for those wanting to remain in the castle but abstain in the war, those willing to make war all together, and also a room for those wanting to depart the castle.

[ He exhales a breath, frowning a little. ]

I've commissioned a clerk who I will be posted with at the door, who will record the information of those willing to give it as they enter. By no means is anyone obligated to breathe a word about themselves, or to attend. Those who desire a copy of the final manuscript may request one at their leisure.

For myself, I distrust this place and its people; what manner of monarchs call upon untested children, even girls, to battle in a war they have no stake in? Pulls them sleeping from their beds?

[ His jaw clenches, but he'll tamp back on the tirade in the interest of efficiency. ]

Having been brought to the castle in the manner as I have, am for a short while reliant upon its goodwill. Given our shared circumstance, I believe that there are none we can afford to trust as much as each other. So, if you're willing, I beg you attend, if only to add your name and intentions to the lists, that others who intend likewise may reach out to you-- and you to them. There are few men or beasts that live long or successfully relying only upon themselves.

Good day to you.

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[ His jaw clenches, he inhales a breath... but he nods. ]

Aye.

Your son, from what I have been told, took up title of King in the North once your death reached Winterfell. He then promised himself to the Freys in order to receive access to their bridge - a terrible idea, really, but an idea none the less.

[ It's quite a grusome tale; forgive him for his casual nature. He doesn't want to dwell on it, really, not if he can. ]

But he had another, I believe, and wedded her out of duty. [ See where your Gods forsaken duty gets you all, Starks? Renly shakes his head, nose wrinkling a little. ] The Freys were, understandably, rather upset when they heard. They invited your boy and your wife to dine with them, wedded one of their daughters to his uncle and then had a feast - with guest rites, of course. All very formal and fitting, until the Freys took their knives and slit your lady wife's throat.

[ It's not as though there is a roundabout way to say it; Lady Catelyn Stark is dead and hiding the nature of her death would only lead to Eddard asking more questions of Renly. He's not fool enough to think otherwise. ]

They then took your son's head from his shoulders and threw Lady Stark's body into a river where she lay until Beric Dondarrion exchanged his life for hers and allowed her to come back as Lady Stoneheart, a woman desperate for vengeance.

[ This fills in much that had gone unsaid; he ducks his head, pressing one hand over his eyes, to support his forehead.

It's a moment before the hand drops; but he doesn't she from Renly's gaze, though he looks several shades paler and... a little ill. ]

Lady Stoneheart.

[ Once, he'd wondered, what he might do, what they might do if-- ]

Bran? Rickon? Arya? Sansa? Jon, at the Wall?

Tell me all that you know, please.

That is her new title. I know nothing more than that of her.

[ He watches Ned's face, feeling a pang of sadness for the man. He couldn't imagine losing Loras, his brother (Robert more than Stannis). He lost his parents too young to mourn them and, so, his empathy is a little weak. ]

Arya and Sansa are here and well, Sansa being cared by our dear Littlefinger. As for Jon, he too has arrived and seems well.

.... My thanks, for such frankness.

I... must think on this. [ And weep. ]

With luck, Lord Renly, we'll speak more at length on the morrow. Farewell.

CALLING A MEETING | LOCKED TO SEELIE | FORWARD TO 6/02

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