Chapter 8 - Eddard
The water drips around him, a steady stream of consistency that Lord Eddard Stark can focus on. He's been down in the dungeons for over a week, sentenced to die a traitor's death. He can still see Sansa's face when they passed the sentence. She'd screamed, falling to her knees in fury and agony at just the thought of his death. He'd tried to comfort her, but she couldn't be comforted. She didn't stop her haunting shrieks until Lord Beric went to her and gently took her in his arms.
"Please Your Grace, whatever you want is yours, but please don't do this!" she'd sobbed. While the Queen had been perfectly political, the King had quickly lost his patience with her. Yet the man didn't know that Sansa's sobs were not purely of grief. Eddard'd seen the way the knights of Camelot had shifted uncomfortably along with the nobles of the court at her screams. Sansa had grown up with them, they'd seen her run around the castle, played with her in the gardens. The knights had been charmed by her since she was not much older then a toddler, entertaining her when she was young with their stories and fighting over her favors in tournaments. Sansa is everyone's sister, everyone's friend. While most write Sansa off as a classic lady, he knows she is smart, playing a game most aren't aware she knows exists, and better yet she's been playing it for years. She's played it since she was a toddler, the only skill she learned from the Queen as a child. He knows her public grief was a way to sway the people of the court who love her so dearly. She knows he will die, but if she places doubt in their minds, then perhaps they will not fight so hard against her brother when he comes. Sansa isn't so stupid as people say she is, she knows war is coming, and she knows Robb will come not only to extract revenge, but to save her.
Eddard Stark is about to be try and sleep (though, as there is no windows he isn't sure it's night), when he sees a flicker of light. He looks up to see a shadow holding a torch in the distance. The closer the figure comes the more distorted he seems to look.
"Lord Stark," a male voice calls out in a loud whisper.
"Merlin?" Eddard asks. Merlin is a favorite companion of both Sansa and Bran, despite the fact that he is Arthur's manservant.
"Yes, Lord Stark, I come on behalf of your daughter," Merlin says as he kneels next to the cell door.
"Sansa? Is she alright? And where is Bran? I did not see him at my trial," he says to the manservant desperately. He doesn't think he could ever forgive himself for telling Cersei if something happened to one of his children.
"Sansa has both crown and Stark guards with her and Jory sent Bran off to the Riverlands before they thought to look for him. They are both safe Lord Stark, but Sansa cannot sleep. Morgana thought if perhaps I came to you and saw that you are alright with my own eyes, she could sleep with some sort of peace."
"Sansa," Eddard breaths, smiling at the thought of his only daughter, "Tell her I'm sorry. Tell her I love her. Tell her to trust her family."
"Why are you sorry Lord Stark? Sansa knows you would never betray the King."
Eddard stops and takes a moment to observe the boy before him. Should he tell? Should he chance Sansa's safety for something that doesn't matter in the grand scheme? He should have left it alone the first time. If he'd left it alone then maybe he wouldn't have been sentenced to death and his son wouldn't be marching for war.
"Arthur is having an affair with the Queen," he says, because war is inevitable, the more people that know, the more likely Uther is to spare his daughter. He is a Stark, of the North, of the ice and snow. He was born in winter, as were each of his children. They are all made of winter, even young Sansa. Winter is Coming, and only those who are ready will survive. The North never forgets.
