RP: Chapter and Verse Who: Lord Eddard Stark When: 30 June 2013; midday Where: His study at Stark Manor, Laguna Beach, Ca. Status: Complete Word Count: 1,176
When the call came, Eddard Stark wasn't surprised by the name that flashed across small ID viewscreen. He'd been expecting it, along with the packet arriving by courier hardly an hour past. Sunday, at your door deliveries, might be out of the question for the average Joe Public, but that rule hardly applied to those living on highest rungs of society. When business owners and tycoons of industry - globally speaking - hardly cared that it was deemed a Christian day of rest for someone living on this side of the international dateline.
Documents got moved, by God, and so much better the world was for it, Ned decided as he picked up the telephone, cradling it against an ear while opening that very same packet. A steel grey folder with pebbled matte finish boasted no identifying marks on the outside but inside would be a wealth of information gathered by the most discreet means.
The dossier on Robert McLellan he'd been expecting. And now that his solicitor - an extremely thorough man of the law with the very best instincts by the name of Alisdair Hawkins - was on the other end, he could finally examine its contents.
"Alisdair! Good to hear from you." Ned glanced at the time and added another eight hours. "Another late evening on King William Street, is it?"
"Getting a jump on the week.” A voice of middling years - not quite ready for retiring to Catalina Island but well seasoned, to say the least - echoed through the receiver. Old associates, he and Alisdair, the firm having provided all legal needs for the Starks for generations. ”Time waits for no man, eh, Ned?”
The two chuckled jovially. A bit of banter before they jumped to the very heart of the matter never hurt anybody.
”Now then, you’ll see the information has been compiled to the best of our ability - obtaining records from the former Soviet Union is not an easy task, as you well know. It should, however, put your mind at ease that Mr. McLellan’s remaining family on the maternal side has absolutely no communist affiliations whatsoever as noted on page nine, highlighted accordingly.”
Eddard hummed, turning crisp white pages until blunt fingertips landed on the correct one. Scanning the text, he was able to glean from it all the necessaries: Not Russian, then, but descended from Lutheran Finnish immigrants. Grandfather currently residing in an oblast community near the Baltic Sea. A family portrait was clipped to the top. Snapped in the late 1960s judging by the degree of fading and hair and clothing styles. Husband, wife, two young daughters. Run of the mill studio quality with artisan imprint stamped in gold ink at the bottom right corner, he noted.
“Getting ahead of ourselves, of course, but since that was your main concern I wanted to inform you straight away...”
“Yes... I’m glad you did.” Ned replied, words coming slow as he digested the information, committing it to vast memory banks. Later, much later, he would ruminate on its meaning, just as he would further ponder what was to come. “Ingrain Fin? Can’t say I have ever heard one word of that culture but so long as there are no ties to Putin or the Kremlin-”
”None whatsoever, Ned. I’d stake my reputation on it.”
From there the two jumped forward in time, starting from present day and working their way back. Robb’s abbreviated stint at university was touched upon, as were the various jobs held since, including infamous months spent in the Moscow circus. Ned disliked finding out the former moreso than the latter as he believed in proper education - Seen through to the very end when diploma and honors are awarded. None of this flittering off purely for the sake of youthful whimsy would ever have been allowed under my roof. - was paramount to achieving greatest life goals.
He would eventually have to broach the subject with Jon and his beau. See if perhaps Robb might be mature enough now to re-enter hallowed halls of higher learning. His marks are certainly high enough.
“...So aside from a few underage drinking incidents - all considered misdemeanors here and in California - his record is spotless, Ned. All the correct paperwork was submitted for his green card, as was certification to possess an endangered animal. Every scrap I could dig up is in that folder you’re holding right now, and nothing sent up the red flags except the final page…”
Without further prompting, Ned flicked to the back of the folder, landing on a photocopy of a birth certificate. As he read it his heart lodged somewhere in the vicinity of his throat.
Robert Kenneth McLellan. Male. Born 18 June 1991, 5:29 a.m., York Hospital, York, England.
”Your first child was birthed the same day at York Hospital, weren’t they?”
“I- Yes. Yes, he was.”
He felt sick just then. Completely and utterly, skin gone clammy as the Earth tipped on its axis, vomit in the nearest wastepaper basket kind of ill. What were the odds a child would be born and eventually end up dating, living together, fornicating with someone so very, very close to a man who’d lost a child born in the same hospital the very same morning?
You came into this world at four oh-seven; gone before we could even give you a name. My son. My dear, dear son. How pitiful you looked in the end. The sight of you - so cold, so lifeless in your hospital bassinet - nearly drove us mad with grief.
After that, Ned and Catelyn made sure all future Stark children were born far, far from Yorkshire. Giving up family seat and celebration of a new arrival in favor of breaking the cycle before it even had a chance to become salt tossed over the shoulder “Third time’s the charm!” bad omen.
No more mistakes; or leaving things to chance.
It was why he’d started the investigation. Delved into territory most would consider unthinkable. Rooting around into someone’s past meant opening Pandora’s Box if one wasn’t careful; and Ned was so very careful a man. Soon as he regained steely, solid English composure and could process better the documents contained within - read from cover to cover thrice so nothing was missed - he would tuck the file away. Locking it into elaborate antique safe built into the core of the home so nobody would find out.
Jon would never forgive him if the truth ever emerged, but Ned was good at keeping secrets. Protecting his family from the sharks and grifters of the world was a constant top priority, and if it meant having to nose around a bit...