Ned did not know how much time had elapsed between his beheading and now. In subjective time, no time had passed at all, for him. So he did not know whether Jon had heard what had befallen him, or how.
"I am sorry, my boy," he said. "I have always expected my sons to see justice done unflinching. I cannot expect you not to flinch from the sight of me now, for what was done was no justice."
Ah, Jon. That's my boy. There was the real Stark iron in him.
"He was but what his mother made him," said Ned darkly, though inwardly he could not suppress a surge of grim joy to hear of the false heir undone. "Has Stannis the Iron Throne, then, as I intended?"
Jon gave his father a confused look. "Stannis? Joffrey, as wretched as he was, was King Robert's heir. Yes, Stannis- and Renly too- made for the throne despite that and..." Jon took a deep breath. "...Robb was crowned King in the North. Apparently no one in the realm wanted to be under Lannister rule."
Ned, too, took a deep breath. It was a strange sight -- his chest moving, and his nostrils narrowing, unconnected reflexive movements. "Civil war." The words fell flat and hard between them. "Gods, what have I wrought?"
"Aye, mad he was," Ned agreed. "And yet I could have stemmed it -- was named Protector of the Realm, by Robert on his deathbed -- or perhaps such tidings did not reach you at the Wall. It happened very swiftly then."
Ned brimmed with a thousand self-reproaches. Had he but heeded Renly -- had he but trusted his own judgement in the matter of Littlefinger --
And yet, his eyes were dry, dry and burning. He could not weep for his own folly, nor for the pain of his sons and daughters, nor for the ravaging of the realm. He was a Stark of Winterfell. The tears were frozen.
"Spilt milk," he murmured. "Well, and how fare you at the Wall?"
Jon froze, not sure of how to break what could be considered good news among so much bad news.
"We have yet to find Benjen, dead or alive... Lord Mormont has died since then as well, at the hands of rebelling watchmen, gods curse them. The wildlings attempted to break through the Wall," Jon said, skirting the bit about being named Lord Commander, "But Stannis arrived in time to aid us in fending them off. I am wary of his charity, however- he seems to have come at the behest of that red witch of his. She wished to kill the King Beyond the Wall in her plot to birth dragons with royal blood. And Stannis has also demanded use of the Gift and several of the abandoned castles along the wall."
"Use of the Gift?" Ned was taken aback -- no, more, he was outraged. "Stannis presumes too far, red witch or no. Would that his witch had shed the blood of Cersei's get."
Ah, Lyanna, you were wise. There was royal blood where none would think to look for it. Ned did not regret one iota of the price he'd paid for that, dear though it was.
"Yes, it was a delicate siutation with Stannis- it is unfortunate that I find myself here, with the wall in such a state." Jon swallowed thickly and added, "I was named Lord Commander, father."
Now that was a bit of gleaming news amid the dross and ordure it seemed all Westeros must have become. A quiet pride seemed to suffuse every fiber of Ned's being. He tucked his head carefully under his arm, its raw neck-edge swathed safely in his cloak, and looked proudly at Jon Snow, blood of his blood. With his free arm, he clapped the boy -- no, man -- on the shoulder.
"There's honor no man can gainsay." And honor dependent on no family's name.
This, however, was a beast of a different nature.
Upon seeing the headless, somehow animated corpse of his father, Jon dropped to his knees in shock, saying nothing.
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"I am sorry, my boy," he said. "I have always expected my sons to see justice done unflinching. I cannot expect you not to flinch from the sight of me now, for what was done was no justice."
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"He was but what his mother made him," said Ned darkly, though inwardly he could not suppress a surge of grim joy to hear of the false heir undone. "Has Stannis the Iron Throne, then, as I intended?"
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Ned brimmed with a thousand self-reproaches. Had he but heeded Renly -- had he but trusted his own judgement in the matter of Littlefinger --
And yet, his eyes were dry, dry and burning. He could not weep for his own folly, nor for the pain of his sons and daughters, nor for the ravaging of the realm. He was a Stark of Winterfell. The tears were frozen.
"Spilt milk," he murmured. "Well, and how fare you at the Wall?"
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"We have yet to find Benjen, dead or alive... Lord Mormont has died since then as well, at the hands of rebelling watchmen, gods curse them. The wildlings attempted to break through the Wall," Jon said, skirting the bit about being named Lord Commander, "But Stannis arrived in time to aid us in fending them off. I am wary of his charity, however- he seems to have come at the behest of that red witch of his. She wished to kill the King Beyond the Wall in her plot to birth dragons with royal blood. And Stannis has also demanded use of the Gift and several of the abandoned castles along the wall."
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Ah, Lyanna, you were wise. There was royal blood where none would think to look for it. Ned did not regret one iota of the price he'd paid for that, dear though it was.
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"There's honor no man can gainsay." And honor dependent on no family's name.
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"Tell me you have not fallen," he said, his smile fading.
You, not the Wall. He had no doubt the Wall still stood.
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