Disclaimer: If I owned the rights to this series, Ned Stark would not have died. He did die; ergo I do not own the rights to this series.
Ned Stark had killed men and demanded surrenders, but never had the Lord of Winterfell felt such hatred as he did now.
A ragged stone flew out from the wrathful crowd and struck him square in the temple. He staggered, but did not fall – he was already on his knees. When had he fallen there? He had to stand back up – but his shattered leg screamed in agony when he moved it, and he had not eaten for days…
This was worth it, he told himself. He had stubbornly clung to his honor, and all it had won him were guilt for his murdered men and a charge of treason. To false crimes he had confessed, but his daughters would be saved, and perhaps he himself as well. He could work against the Lannisters from within court, and he would never trust any of the council again…
But then he looked up into the bright blue eyes of Cersei's son, and he realized that his false words had all been for naught. There was no mercy in that boyish face, a face so unlike Robert's that Ned wondered how he had never seen it before it was too late.
Oh Robert, he thought sadly. Would that you had nurtured him into a good king! But he has only the cruelty and wiles of the Lannisters. What a fool I have been!
He heard Sansa scream. Joffrey had just proclaimed his punishment of death. Ned sought out her gaze, trying to comfort her in her grief, but the world was a blur before him and he was collapsing under his own pain, disappointment, and – may the gods forgive him! – fear.
Sansa, sweet child. I fear you were too trusting of your prince's mercy. I too had hoped he would prove to be the golden king of your dreams, but it was a futile hope. I wish I could have given you a carefree life, but it will not be so. You must be always on guard. You are in greater danger here in the court of lions than if you had been facing an army of barbarian invaders. Be safe. Be strong. This is farewell!
He heard the crowd roar, and saw in the corner of his eye Ser Ilyn stomping towards him. Of course Joffrey would not take the execution into his own soft, un-bloodied hands. The sight of the false knight holding Ice inflamed Ned more than anything else had, and gave him a sudden furious energy to struggle against the guards holding him. But his true strength had long since failed him, and he fell again.
He sought out Arya in the crowd – where had she gone? He prayed that she would find a way out of the city. She was strong and cunning, more than worthy of the knighthood she so desired. She had it within her to show the kingdom the courage of a daughter of the House of Starks, but for her sake he hoped she could live out her life unknown and undisturbed.
Death was coming for him, was almost upon him. Would there be an afterlife for him? He hoped so. Robert would be there, and his parents and Jon Arryn, and Lyanna and Brandon too, and everyone else he had loved and failed…
He sensed rather than saw his sword looming above him. His head had been forced down by the guards, and he could see only the rough wood of the pulpit and the blurred animosity of the crowd, but his mind's gaze was fixed far upwards to the eternal skies, and there he cried, "Winter is coming. Long live the House of Starks! Long live the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms!"
A/N: I just finished reading the Game of Thrones and was so affected by the death of Ned Stark that I had to write this. He was my favorite character throughout the book, and I was hard-pressed to finish the book when I realized that he was the character portrayed by Sean Bean in the TV series – and everyone knows Sean Bean's character always dies. I hope you enjoyed this small piece, even if you didn't love the character of Ned Stark as much as I did. I was thinking of writing about Ned and Robert meeting in death, but I'm not quite sure how the afterlife might look like in Westeros. Any ideas?