Ned Stark A Different Confession
As he was being bumped and jerked up the stairs Ned Stark couldn't help but glance at his daughter kneeling besides Baelor's statue. Lyanna, his beleaguered and delusional mind almost thought when he saw his youngest daughter there. She looked so much like her, like his sister.
It brought back memories, Promise Me, Ned. And older memories too, from Winterfell, her riding around as well as anyone, better in fact, her smile, Harrenhall, and finally when he sealed her fate in the Eyrie. The crowd jeered and yelled as Eddard was finally placed up the platform. He turned to look at the Queen's triumphant face, and Sansa who looked proud. He saw littlefinger's smirk, and varys's obsequious gaze, he saw Joffrey's gloating sneer.
A brother and a Father dead and a choice to try and save a woman he loved. He'd been here before, in a way. Back at the Eyrie, when Aerys had called for his head. Lyanna, his sweet sister was Rhaegar's prisoner, or so he thought at the time. His father and brother were dead, and he'd known then that calling his banners would have doomed his sister to the same fate. She may not have been taken as a hostage, but the Mad King would never have spared her life if they lost, or if they won for that matter. It had been his only hesitation, he'd squashed it at the time with cold reason. His family would have all died if Aerys had his way, him and Robert and Benjen likely as not as well, probably Lyanna too in the end.
But back before the trident, he remembered that night so clearly now, when he and Howland Reed were speaking of her, of the Knight of the Laughing Tree, he almost thought to parley with Rhaegar, to offer some sort of terms to save his sister. He never did of course, it would have been impossible, there were no terms he would have been able to offer at the time, Aerys had to die, and Rhaegar was Lyanna's rapist, so he'd gone to battle with a heavy heart knowing no matter what his sister would die if she wasn't dead already, and she did, though not by any circumstance he would have ever imagined.
Now though, now he was making the other choice. He was condoning the reign of a false king, he was supplicating himself before the family that killed his Foster Father, that murdered his brother in all but blood, and tried to murder his son. All for his daughters, daughter, he corrected in his mind. Arya was free, and by all the nameless old gods, he had to believe she would survive this.
The crowd quieted, and he thought of Brandon, and his father Rickard, again. Brandon who should have been Lord of Winterfell and Hand to Kings. And his Father, what would they think of him, what would they do? Brandon would understand surely, he who died for Lyanna and his own foolishness. And father... Father who never begged, who demanded a trial by combat and burned alive. And Brandon, who strangled himself fighting to save his father.
They'd both fought at the end he realized, and here was Ned about to go off quietly to the wall, meekly. Are you a wolf or a mouse brother? Brandon would say, as he said a thousand times before.
The bells ceased to toll, and the guard behind him prodded him roughly. He stumbled and had to be helped up. The visage of Ser Ilyn Payne caught his eye, the king's justice. And a scabbard, his scabbard, for his greatsword, Ice. His father's sword and his father's before him, for hundreds of years it had been passed down from the Starks of Winterfell, a replica of the original said to have been forged from ice itself 8000 years ago during the long night. Now in the hands of a Lannister pawn, just like himself.
Tywin Lannister had wanted one for a long time, and here was Ned just letting them take his Fathers. Winterfell should never have gone to him. He should have taken the black and had Benjen be lord of Winterfell, he wouldn't have made this big a mess of things. But it was Brandon he thought of, and Brandon he chose to emulate for once in his life. Well twice, Harrenhall was the first time in truth, to my shame.
He looked down and saw Yoren approaching Araya. Thank the Gods. He turned and saw Sansa's triumphant face one more time and it filled him with sadness and shame. Gods forgive me for what I'm about to do.
He raised his voice and began. "I am Eddark Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King, and I come before you to confess my treasons in the sight of gods and men. When The Mad King, Aerys Targaryen called for my head in the Eyrie, I disobeyed my liege and called my banners and I rose in Rebellion against the crown." He paused and the gold cloak behind him nudged him none too gently. The crowd's faces looked confused and the jeering quieted for a moment. He took a deep breath, he could not afford to pause even for a moment.
"I betrayed the faith of my king, and the trust of my friend, Robert." The crowd jeered louder and he spoke even louder and deeper to overcome them. The same voice he'd used at the trident. "When I discovered that the boy Joffrey, the boy Tommen and the girl Myrcella were the children of the Kingslayer and his sister Cersei Lannister the queen, I did not tell him at once."
The gold cloaks behind him grabbed him roughly and tried to pull him back, he resisted. Joffrey screeched in fury. 'Lies all of them. Ser Ilyn bring me his head." Cersei's beatiful face was marred by rage, where triumph had once lay.
I saw my sister by Baelor's statue with a stunned expression on her face, and spoke again. "I was haunted by the bodies of the babies Aegon and Rhaenys placed before the Iron throne. I told the Queen instead, so that she might save her children, and gave her time to conspire to poison King Robert and seize the throne for her bastard son." A spear but collided with his face and drew blood. The two gold cloaks were now four and they dragged him to the block. One reached around to try and gag him, but he headbutted him as hard as he could and spoke louder. "They murdered Jon Arryn when he discovered ..." That was the last thing he ever said, before the guard successfully gagged him.
The crowds roared and rioted, and stones were thrown forward onto the stage. The kingsguard charged forward and Joffrey roared for his head. The gold clocks lay him on the block and Ser Ilyn Payne drew his Fathers sword and as Ned looked out onto the roaring crowd in the last moments of his life he couldn't help but think, I'm a direwolf brother. Now and always.
The sword came down and he knew no more.