Chapter Text
Ned hates himself for taking the black, for surrendering, for giving up. For denouncing what he knows is true - that the princes and the princess are bastards, not Robert's children. Lions, not stags. They should never get even close to the throne.
But then, there is his own family to consider, his pack. The Lord of Winterfell has grown up mainly in the Eyrie, has been raised with the ideals of knighthood, and honesty, and trust. Which is what got him into this mess in the first place: Obedience to Robert, and honesty. But now, when it all comes down to it, he knows that the life of his family weighs heavier. They say a man can lose everything and still stand as long as he has his pride. Maybe.
Not Ned though. Oh, how quickly things can change when it is not only about him anymore, but about those he loves. He knows he would buckle if it would endanger his girls, or would cause them harm. Whatever they make out of him, he will bare it, can bare it, as long as he knows Sansa and Arya are alright. Maybe that makes him a bad lord, but he hopes it makes him at least a decent father. Of course, he knows the wish is probably futile, he might be an idealist, but he isn't dumb. And yet - the children of a traitor up in the North might be more valuable and treated differently than the children of a dead traitor.
He hopes. He can still hope. He hates the queen, loathes even to call her by that title, for everything she has done and everything she represents, that is no question. It is a hot, rightous hate, mixed with condecention. And yet, despite everything, he cannot help but wonder what the world must have done to a woman for her to turn out like that.
She has given him a glimpse of a side of Robert he always suspected but brushed aside because it didn't concern him - or did it? Did he just happily ignore what was right in front of him, because that was easier than confronting another man, a friend? After all his own sister ran away from a marriage with Robert, called him a drunken brute. Could he have changed it? Could he have checked him? Probably not, he tells himself, it is not his place, not his fault.
And yet, he thinks that maybe Arya has a point with her rebellion against everything girlish, that he understands why she wants to be nothing like that. Women shield themselves in finery and politeness, and at the same time that becomes a cage, restricting their fight. It is all so twisted, everything a double-edged sword.
Cersei Lannister though - she is anything but powerless. The last days have shown him how terribly he has misjudged her. Now she is smug, but still serious despite her obvious glee, which surprises him a little. He would have expected more gloating at his downfall.
Then, suddenly the little blond lion interrupts her, respectless, cruel, and he is reminded that even her powers only go so far. That she in all her glory needs to bow to her son, a brat and a monster. Ned can see the glimpses now: Teeth hidden between smiles, claws under hands that are far too soft for someone who is meant to rule a kindom one day.
How could he have been so blinded?
As he glances up from where he is kneeling he sees Sansa shiver in the stands, far too close to Joffrey.
A hush. The boy demanding his head. More silence. It is a shock, but even more so, he has never felt more exposed. Ice is gone, and he feels cut open already, for everyone to see. A glance up confirms that the king's mother is more scandalised than himself at the request, maybe because she still had somewhat believed in her child. In any other situation, he would have laughed - it's not funny, especially not with Sansa in the picture, but it is kind of satisfying to see her realize her failure.
The lord is not particularly worried about dying, you can't be in this world if you are going to war. He has made piece with death long ago.But now, there are the children. Sansa is held back by the Hound, no way to escape. His hands digging into her arms, though his expression isn't vicious, more uncaring. It's a day like any other for that man. Ned's eyes search for Arya. They suddenly find those grey eyes, so much like his own, boring into his. She looks scared, so young, and she is wearing breeches, probably just back from "dance training". Right now, she is hidden among the other peasants, another face in the crowd. Before Ned knows what he is doing, he mouthes 'run'. He feels he can see her nod once, then she is gone like a shadow.
Payne comes closer, sword in his hand. Where did that sword come from? It is a wicked thing, long and sharp. Not pretty, nothing like Ice. ruly, he wants to think about Cat in his last moments, a woman he has grown to love. Silky red hair, sweet smiles, warmth, family. But it is just too much. People have started to scream, it's horribly distracting and overwhelming.
Ned looks up one last time - because a Stark will face down death, whatever comes - he can only see the queen's green eyes boring into his. They are bright and hard and widened with fear, fear of her own son. Still, she doesn't look away, up to the end. Who would have known Cersei Lannister would be the last thing he sees.