AN: This is really Ned's chapter in a way because we get to see him grapple with the fallout of his actions. Hope you enjoy!

Ned Stark

Ned was paralyzed as he watched his two daughters bolt past him, completely oblivious to his presence across the yard. Before they had entirely vanished into the arbor, Sansa looked his way for an instant. Gone was the face of a doting daughter, eager to please. And in its place was a glare that spit poison. Her mouth was contorted into a grimace and her eyes were so bright with ire that they scorched all before them.

Her face left as soon as it appeared and she was gone along with her intrepid sister.

His belly turned with the knowledge that he was the catalyst of Sansa's woe, and even more despicable he had endangered his girls. Ned struggled to overcome the urge to be sick once again. Regret and concern seethed through his veins; and leadened his body with rue. Ice lay unsheathed in his hands, and for all he could tell the sword bore the weight of the entire Wall within. Yet this wall wasn't composed of eternal, magically reinforced ice, but instead fashioned from all that was left of him. His hollow bones drained of affection and pride, acted as the skeleton for his wall.

What have I done? How have I come to this point, with my child looking at me like the enemy? Why did I hurt my daughters so?

But in his heart, Ned already knew the answer: his fealty to Robert defeated the love he felt for his family. The pledge he made to his liege lord called for absolute servitude and the utmost loyalty: the promise to be Hand of the King. And like his vow to govern the North justly and rule Winterfell according to the law of the First Men, Ned would uphold his oath until his body was in the Crypts. And he joined his forefathers in death's stony embrace.

Ned imagined his father and eldest brother would be disappointed in him greatly, because they were always fiercer than he was. True wolves were Brandon, Lyanna and Rickard Stark; Ned never felt he lived up to his House's sigil. And his actions only supported this conclusion.

He couldn't rationalize why he was so compelled to be at Robert's beck and call, it had just been that way since they were boys. They scaled the peaks of the Eyrie and learned the best way to charm girls both low and highborn. Together they had overthrown a centuries old dynasty and installed a new king. For decades the pair had been brothers in arms and the dearest of friends. However, Ned's devotion went deeper than mere loyalty.

It's my pride that blinds me. A Northman must conduct himself with honor, live and breathe the vows he swears. I am no knight of the south but House Stark has never broken faith with flowery declarations of fealty. Yet I am loath to disregard the tradition, even if it is to the detriment of my family. However, what is honor if it cannot protect those you love; who are pure and good? Isn't it more noble to honor the promise I was charged with to my wife, children and subjects, than waste away until I am nothing more than a shade of duty and subservience? Of course it is; there is no other answer for a halfway decent man to accept! I need to find my daughters, all other tribulations can wait.

"Family, Duty, Honor" the House Tully words swam and swished in his head like the trouts they identify with, their fins tickling and stroking his worry.

Ned shook his head violently as if to force the thoughts from his skull, the tendons in his neck crackled hideously and snapped for good measure. He then tilted his head skyward and glimpsed upon the onyx sheet. There were few stars in the sky, only the occasional silver spangle to be seen. It was as if the sky were a yawning, cavern leaning downwards to swallow him up for his follies. But it would not be him who was at the mercy of the night, his daughters were alone without protection or supplies. He couldn't remain still a second longer.

He strode to the dilapidated inn and took note of the fragmented wooden planks and smashed glass panes that made up the hostel. His boots carried him over the dusty space and to the remnants of a door with the faint engraving of crossing roads impressed upon the oak door.

From the entryway to the great furnace bodies were strewn here and there, some were fortunate enough to have settled in chairs sturdy enough to withstand whatever caused this wreckage. The unconscious figures were a conglomeration of stations, houses and backgrounds. No matter the fine detail on a silk dress of nobility or the rusted gauntlets and helms of hedge knights, none were spared. Every one of them had crimson slithering from their ears into sticky pools of blood. They ranged from Jaime Lannister to the innkeep Masha.

For a terrifying moment Ned thought all of his traveling companions perished, lying in morbid wait for discovery. But a scan of the room disconfirmed the Lord of Winterfell's fear as the up and down motion of the chest that was participated in by all of the bodies. They all sustained a curiously potent blow, but at least they were breathing consistently.

Ned walked up to his Northmen and grimaced. They too were inert and therefore unforthcoming with any information. Before he continued his exploration Ned seized Jory's upper body and drug him to the base of the ruined wall. He propped him upright as gently as he could and used his own tunic to wipe the blood from Jory's whiskers and ears.

Ned did the same for the Northmen he could find and crept gingerly to the center of the common room. King Robert, Queen Cersei and their royal remained seated in a handful of chairs orbiting the ornate main table.

What happened here? Surely, it was not bandits or thieves as there are no wounds marking anyone as having been attacked. All of the finery of crowns and jewels were still draped about the royal family, undisturbed and garish as ever. No riches had been taken, and there were no signs of a struggle.

Ned scratched his beard and took a moment to ponder how queer the situation was.

Why had his girls been safe? Had they run before this cataclysm; yet how would they have forewarning? Could this be some plot to kidnap his children, and strike a blow against the crown?

Ned thought not, as nobody had been killed and his daughters were running freely. The only clue Ned had was the scream he heard from the thatch roofed stables. Even the enclosure where he slayed Lady had shaken a bit.

The wail was most definitely feminine and higher of pitch. No words accompanied the barrage of sound, it was just pure catharsis. Initially Ned thought it had been Sansa who screamed but she could not be capable of something like this? But Arya was never keen to shriek, and both girls were gone. Perhaps Sansa was responsible, but how? He had only been gone for a mere handful of minutes.

Ned didn't get an opportunity for further consideration. Someone else entered through the broken doorway.

In a gruff tone with his motley of scars accommodating hit curse, the Hound inquired, "What in the seven bloody hells happened here?"

He was looking at Edward with unbridled suspicion and accusing eyes.

His voice dropped an octave and was as sharp as the teeth of his Hound Helm, "Would you happen to know, Lord Stark?" He sneered in his gravely brogue.

Ned swallowed deep and thought carefully. He had every reason to be wary of Prince Joffrey's sworn shield. The Hound had a reputation for brutality and savagery, almost on par with his ghastly elder brother. Perhaps playing the fool would buy Ned some much needed time and control.

"I was in the stables dispensing Queen Cersei and King Robert's will. The deed is done, the direwolf has been killed in the stead of her sister."

The Hound didn't entertain Ned's deflection. He grunted.

"Yes, I know you Starks are all about honor and justice, but that doesn't explain why when I return from taking a piss, I find you standing before a mess of corpses. Alone."

Clegane bit out the last word and there was no doubt he thought Ned responsible.

"I was absent when this mess happened, as I told you. I was doing my duty, while you were relieving your bladder. We both missed the origin of this madness; I am in the dark as much as you are. But from what I've seen they're all alive, just unconscious."

Clegane barely acknowledged Ned's explanation. He did a quick scan of the tattered space.

"I don't see either of your whelps among the wreckage. And I have an inkling that they weren't eager to see you slaughter one of their pets. Where are the girls?"

Ned ground his teeth in frustration. He had prayed his daughters would be an afterthought. The Hound caught the scent.

"I imagine they went to bed. Today hasn't been kind to them."

Clegane was growing impatient as he gnawed on his chapped lips.

"There is no one else to blame for their blubbering, but themselves. The small one was stupid enough to anger the prince, and the other stupid enough to love the brat. Neither of them would give up without a fight and fall asleep. I don't know much about you Northmen, and I never claimed to, but this here is not of the South. Considering that the rest of you Northerners are passed out as well, your children are missing, and you're the only one awake, there is only one possible solution. I'd arrest you, but my sword hasn't seen live combat in too long, wouldn't want her to atrophy. There's no one here to do your fighting for you. Stark, show me what you can do with that pretty sword, I have always wanted to see a Valyrian Steel blade in action. It's unfortunate that so many men have lost their balls and softened up. Valyrian Steel is a weapon, not a mantel piece. Prove that you've still got balls that haven't frozen off from disuse in the North, sitting all fancy in your carved chair. Prove it!"

Ned took a deep breath and knew there was no other alternative; he would have to defeat the Hound in defense of his girls, or die trying. But he couldn't allow Clegane to goad him.

He collected Ice fully and used the sweet, stinging serenade of steel against the night air to brace himself and awaken the Wolf he always struggled to unleash. He gripped the pommel of the sword with both hands and raised it up.

Clegane waited not a moment longer to charge Eddard and he caught him unprepared. It was a blunt strike with little finesse but Ned labored to parry it. He slid away a few paces to gain some breathing room.

The Hound roared a guttural cry and took his blade low to slash at Ned's ankles. However, Ned was able to jump high enough to avoid the debilitating blow. He knew if Clegane forced him to his back, he would be dead.

Clegane was noticeably irritated but didn't surrender to the impulse of bludgeoning and hacking away.

He released one gauntlet from its grip on the pommel and swung it back to swipe at Ned's jaw. The blow was hard and true. Ned tasted the iron of blood and spit out a chipped tooth. His mouth stung, and his head was spinning from the blow.

Understanding that he couldn't concede the advantage he swung Ice in a compact arch as to not lose his center of gravity, but to also put more weight behind the cut. He dug into Sandor's belly deep enough, but only grazed the chest.

Sandor stumbled back, evidently surprised that Ned got the best of him, but remained calm.

He jabbed his sword low and caught Ned in the thigh, bone and marrow splintered and the complementary muscles split.

Ned fell to his knees and bit back an anguished yell, but he wasn't able to contain the entire expletive that raged from his wounds

I have to rise again, or my children will be hunted down and killed. I must stand.

Ned willed himself to find his feet and shifted his weight to the uninjured leg.

But he was thrown back down again by a shove from behind, and he was rendered inert from the pain.

He turned to see who pushed him and was met with the sour yet beautiful face of Cersei.

The last thing he heard before he lost all sense was Cersei commanding The Hound to bring her Arya and Sansa.

Arya Stark

Sandor Clegane prowled forward at his full height, and he blocked the newly risen sun. He was an invasion to the senses, with the ringing screech of a gorget striking against shoulder pads and mail tunic, and the blinding shafts of sun that curved around his silhouette. His right hand rested menacingly on the pommel of his sword and the blade shone dull with a carmine sheen - blood most likely.

Nymeria bridged the gap between Arya and the Hound and adjusted her stance with every move Clegane made. Nymeria's eyes had shrunken to golden coals that smoked rabidly, her hackles raised into fearsome points and her ears pasted flat to her skull.

Clegane seemed unmoved by Nymeria's display and Arya cursed at the man's wicked smile and ill advised audacity in the face of a direwolf trembling with fury.

Oh you stupid man! Why couldn't you just let us be? We were so close to getting away!

Arya boldly stepped one foot forward but Sansa gripped her shoulder firmly to hold her in place. Sansa shook her head with resignation clear in her eyes. Instead she was the Stark to venture ahead.

She released two sharp whistles and Nymeria responded immediately with a slackened posture and cocked head. Nymeria chanced a glance back at Sansa with confusion.

Arya shared in her direwolf's perplexity but she only made eye contact with the beast and nodded imperceptibly for her to stand down. Sansa worked her way to a position even with Nymeria, her tread not betraying any knowledge of blisters or bruises. She clucked her tongue, and rested her hand on the sloped plane between Nymeria's ears.

"Shhh. Nymeria it's alright. Sandor isn't here to hurt us, is he? Oh no, he doesn't attack defenseless little girls does he? No, he helps keep them safe. Isn't that right Ser?"

Had Sansa taken leave of her wits overnight? Why was she trying to reason with the monster of a man? She would get all of them killed!

The Hound inhaled sharply and gathered his saliva. In a gush of saliva he spit the bitterness from his mouth and responded, "I ain't no knight and you know that Little Bird. The Queen wants your head; both of your heads. She won't rest until she has you wolf bitches returned to her custody, dead or alive. She claims the two of you worked some devilish magic and assaulted the royal party. Now what do you have to say to that Little Bird?"

Arya wanted to stick her tongue out for being mostly disregarded by Clegane's attention, but she held it anyway.

Sansa made a show of bringing her forefinger and thumb to her chin to mime someone lost in thought, the labyrinth of their psyche proving too much to navigate. The Hound just waited, fixated on his sister.

Ultimately, Sansa decided she had played the farce of naivety for too long and she spoke with condescension bleeding from her tone, as if she were explaining why the Moon was most certainly not made of cheese to a youth in swaddling clothes, "Now that doesn't sound much like sweet Queen Cersei, does it? She's much too kind and reasonable to believe in such absurdities. You must be mistaken, my lord."

The Hound let out an angry grunt and narrowed his eyes but did nothing else in reaction.

Sansa continued, "Now I think that this was all a wild dream of yours; a fanciful few hours of the night. You simply envisioned her Majesty's wishes in your sleepy mind. Perhaps now, it is time for you to return to bed, and see how this dream really ends. Now lay down, Sandor and go to sleep."

Sandor stood there mesmerized as if Sansa were the only thing that mattered, as though she was the sole speck of sanity and virtue in the world. Part way through Sansa's delivery Clegane's lids began to droop and he became bleary eyed. His hand fell to his side, and abandoned the sword pommel.

Sansa transitioned into a lullaby that was a favorite of their lady mother, 'The Song of the Seven'. Her words were as sweet as sugared nuts glazed with honey, but also had an edge to it like the bite of a lemon cake. Arya had never heard something so enrapturing, and she paid particular attention to the verse about the Maiden. It seemed an especially appropriate passage for Sansa to sing.

[...The Maiden dances through the sky,

she lives in every lover's sigh.

Her smiles teach the birds to fly,

and gives dreams to little children…]

Akin to a newborn babe, Sandor hushed all sound and curled on the forest floor into a ball. As he lost all clarity his armor crunched against the hard earth, twigs snapped and dry leaves cracked. Then he was fast asleep.

In the end Arya had also become somewhat entranced by Sansa's words, and remained fixed in that spot. Her own eyes were fighting to stay open and her mind was as muddied as the Red Fork swollen with rain. She had envisioned Sansa in a frock of snow bear fur with a coronet of weirwood leaves and wolves perched over her brown. It was like time had slowed as she watched a stranger walk towards her with love in her eyes. But once Sansa halted her melody Arya gained full control of her faculties once more, even Nymeria appeared to just be emerging from a stupor. The vision vanished.

Sansa said nothing else. She returned to Arya, grabbed her hand and began to run back into the wall of trees. Nymeria followed closely behind, leaving Arya the only one without a lick of a clue of what was coming next.

Now how did she do THAT? I'm so jealous!

Bran Stark

The furs and wool were suffocating him, leaching all coolness from the air and boiling his insides. Sweat took residence in every crevice of his body and the space between his garb and his blankets. He couldn't breathe, it was too much. Too warm! Too hot! He was burning alive!

Bran started in his bed. His sudden movement and unexpected awakening frightened his mother from sewing a wellness wreath. She dropped the half completed craft and pricked her forefinger with the edge of the needle when she jumped in surprise. He saw a small drop of blood fall to the blankets, staining the wool an ominous red.

He shifted his gaze from his mother to the pile of fur that dominated the remaining space of his bed. The direwolf lifted his head in appraisal and locked eyes with Bran. He had seen so much.

AN: So sorry about the wait y'all. I boomeranged from midterms to a monstrous cold to a lack of inspiration. But I'm back! Expect another installment within 2 weeks at the most, and maybe check out my DaarioxSansa fic coming soon!

You are all amazingly wonderful and I love every, each, one of you. I did a dreadful job of responding to comments, but trust me, they are very near and dear to my heart! I will be working on my responses throughout the weekend.

Thank you again to Sonderlust45!