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XVII
Baelor
When Joanna woke in the morning, the world was still different. Her father's body was still cold, her brother still looked down at people from atop this iron throne, and the prospects of the people she cared for were still bleak. She had dreamt the night before of the North, surrounded by cold but shielded and comforted by Ghost's warmth and heavy presence in her bed. As she sat up in her bed, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she found her bed occupied by a direwolf of a different color; Sansa's bright red hair was fanned out across the pillow, and she looked more peaceful than Joanna had ever seen her.
The two girls had lost track of time the evening before, when Joanna had invited Myrcella and Desmera to all stay together in her room. They ate pastries and sang songs and played games, keeping Sansa's mind distracted from the appearance in court that awaited her this morning. Myrcella and Desmera had gone back to their own beds, Joanna's bed not quite large enough to fit all four girls, but Sansa had stayed. Still sleepy, Joanna enjoyed the lingering peacefulness of the morning, of the sound of sea birds and Sansa's quiet breathing.
A knock came at her door and Joanna sighed, calling for the servants to enter. They filed in, bringing breakfast and fresh water for the porcelain wash basin. It was a gentle start to the day, one which Joanna was sure would not be gentle to Sansa. She turned to the younger girl and gently shook her awake. Sansa squinted into the bright light of the morning, looking to Joanna and then to the servants.
"Morning already?" She sounded disappointed.
"Come on," said Joanna. "Let's have breakfast before we get ready."
Sansa rose from the bed slowly, reluctant. She sat and watched the servants bustle around the tables, setting out their silverware and plates, which they piled high with food. It all looked delicious, but Sansa couldn't muster an appetite. Joanna walked around the bed to take both of Sansa's hands in hers and pull her up.
"Come on," she urged again, steadying Sansa once she stood. "Whatever is going to happen today hasn't happened yet. But what is happening is breakfast – so let's enjoy, shall we?"
She pulled Sansa by the hand over the table, sitting her down before taking a seat of her own. Joanna indulged in her breakfast, but Sansa did little more than move the food around on her plate. She hardly said a word all through breakfast, and they were halfway through getting ready for the day when she finally spoke again.
"I heard that my brother called the banners of the North," she said.
Joanna turned to look at her, surprised, before having her head tugged back into place by the servant currently doing her hair.
"Is that so?" she said.
"Does that mean…that he's going to war? Against your family?"
Probably, Joanna thought – but it wasn't pessimism that Sansa needed this morning. Still, Joanna had been told by her cousin Myrielle that Jaime had left King's Landing, and that the other men in their extended family had been called to the field. It didn't bode well, and Joanna couldn't bring herself to tell Sansa no.
"Not necessarily," she said. "If we can get your father released, they may all go home."
"What if I can't get him released?" Sansa asked, despair creeping into her voice. "What if they kill my father?"
"Sansa," Joanna said sharply. "Do you remember what I said to you last night?"
She had to think for a moment, before she nodded slowly. "Protect myself first."
"That's right. Do all you can to get your father released, but if that fails, you are the only one in this keep you need to worry about protecting."
Sansa nodded, looking down at her hands clasped together in her lap. Joanna sighed.
"War is expensive. If my brother and the council know what's good for them, they'll grant your father mercy. That's the only way for them to avoid meeting your brother in the field."
"And you think they'll do that?" she asked. Joanna thought for a moment. She truly couldn't say just how much Joffrey would listen to the council, but she knew he didn't like being told what to do. The council could advise all they want, but Joffrey had always done what made him happy. This time, she had to be honest.
"I don't know."
As the servants finished with her hair, a knock came at the door. Joanna turned in her seat to see Dorcas, her chief servant, peek her head inside.
"The guards are here for Lady Sansa, princess," said Dorcas, looking worried. Joanna frowned.
"Thank them for their concern, but I can accompany Lady Sansa on my own," she said.
"They're insisting, my lady," Dorcas replied.
Joanna sighed, mouth set in a line. It baffled her that her mother, or her brother, could possibly think that Sansa - a thirteen year old girl, and the sweetest girl that Joanna had ever met - would need an armed guard to accompany her to the throne room. Nevertheless, she was not currently in a position to argue with whoever had given the guards their orders. She stood, taking Sansa's hand in hers.
"Let's go, then," she said, and kept their fingers interlocked as they were led through the keep and to the throne room. Sansa was quiet the whole way, and the blood had gone from her face, leaving her porcelain skin pale as ever. They closer they got to the throne room, the more Joanna could feel Sansa's hands start to shake. As they reached the dais overlooking the throne room, they paused. The guards urged them to move forward, but Joanna shushed them and turned back to Sansa.
"It'll be alright," she said quietly, leaning in to give the young girl a kiss on the cheek. "I'll be right here the whole time."
Sansa nodded. The guards nudged her forward, and she continued down the steps towards the front of the court. Joanna watched on nervously, fiddling with her fingers from where she'd placed her hands atop the railing. Her mother and Joffrey looked absolutely pleased to see that Sansa had arrived; Joanna felt anger churn in her stomach. Was the matching cruelty on their faces really there, or was she making that up?
"...lastly, in these times of turmoil, it is the view of the council that the life and safety of King Joffrey be of paramount importance," finished Maester Pycelle, who'd been droning on about today's announcements and proclamations as they'd entered.
"Ser Barristan Selmy," said Cersei as she stood from her seat at Joffrey's right hand. Barristan stepped away from the line of Kingsguard that stood before the throne, walking to the middle of the court to present himself.
"Your Grace," he said as he bent to his knee, "I am yours to command."
"Rise, Ser Barristan. You may remove your helm."
It was an unusual request. Ser Barristan paused in confusion before obeying. Joanna heard the court erupt in whispers, and she had to say that she was rather confused herself.
"You have served the realm long and faithfully. Every man and woman in the Seven Kingdoms owes you thanks. But it is time to put aside your armor and your sword. It is time to rest, and look back with pride on your many years of service."
"Your Grace, the Kingsguard is a sworn brotherhood," said Ser Barristan. "Our vows are taken for life - only death relieves us of our sacred trust."
"Whose death, Ser Barristan? Yours, or your king's?"
"You let my father die," spat Joffrey, leaning forward in his seat. "You're too old to protect anybody."
"Your Grace - "
"The council has determined that Ser Jaime Lannister will take your place as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard."
"A man who profaned his blade with the blood of the king he had sworn to defend!" said Barristan.
"Careful, Ser," Cersei warned. Varys, the Spider, chose this moment to step in with his silken words.
"We have nothing but gratitude for your long service, good ser," he said. "You shall be given a stout keep, beside the sea, with servants to look after your every need."
But Ser Barristan Selmy was a warrior, who had fought for King Aerys and King Robert. He did not want whatever sweet tale the Spider could spin.
"A hall to die in, and men to bury me." He reached to unclasp his cloak from his shoulder. "I am a knight. I shall die a knight."
He threw his cloak and helm and gauntlets to the ground.
"A naked knight, apparently," Littlefinger quipped, and the court laughed. Ser Barristan drew his sword and the laughs died as the Kingsguard standing before the throne drew theirs. The tension rose in the room in the brief silence that followed. Joanna was suddenly very glad to be up on the dais and not down on the court floor, where she was almost sure that a swordfight was about to break out. It would be bloody, and glorious to behold - and it would be nothing that the rest of the Kingsguard wouldn't surely deserve.
But Ser Barristan was a much nobler person than Joanna surely would've been in his place.
"Even now, I could cut through the five of you like carving a cake!" he said, and Joanna believed him. He tossed his sword down to the floor. "Here, boy! Melt it down and add it to the others."
He turned and left from the throne room through the main doors. Joanna hoped that her brother and all the rest of them felt as foolish as he'd just made them look - they deserved it. Ser Barristan had served her family well. For as long as she could remember, he had always been the kindest of the Kingsguard to her, even above her uncle, whose indifference toward her seemed to grow as she did. But she didn't have any time to fume before it was Sansa's turn before the court.
"If any man in the hall has any other matters to set before His Grace, let him speak now, or go forth and hold his silence," said the court announcer.
"Your Grace," said Sansa, meek voice echoing in the large hall. Joffrey smiled.
"Move forward, my lady."
She did as she was bidden, stepping to the center of the court as she was announced.
"Do you have any business for the King and the council, Sansa?" asked Cersei. She was smiling and looked expectant. Joanna looked between the three carefully.
"I do," said Sansa, and she kneeled, and her voice shook as she spoke. "As it please Your Grace, I ask mercy for my father, Lord Eddard Stark who is Hand of the King."
"Treason is a noxious weed!" Pycelle, the old bag, looked outraged. "It should be torn out! Rooted - "
"Let her speak," said Joffrey. "I want to hear what she says."
I want her to grovel before me, Joanna was sure he meant.
"Thank you, Your Grace," said Sansa.
Littlefinger spoke up now. "Do you deny your father's crime?"
"No, my lords. I know he must be punished. All I ask is mercy. I know my lord father must regret what he did, he was King Robert's friend and he loved him - you all know he loved him. He never wanted to be hand until the King asked him. They must have lied to him - Lord Renly, o-or Lord Stannis, or somebody - they must have lied!"
The desperation was creeping into Sansa's voice the more she spoke. Joanna looked to her mother and to Joffrey, expecting to see that they were pleased at Sansa's show, but rather Cersei looked calculating - and Joffrey looked genuinely confused.
"He said I wasn't the King. Why did he say that?"
"He was badly hurt. Maester Pycelle was giving him milk of the poppy. He wasn't himself, otherwise he never would've said it."
"A child's faith," said Varys, looking moved. "Such sweet innocence. And yet they say wisdom oft comes from the mouths of babes."
"Treason is treason!" Pycelle insisted, looking from Varys to Sansa.
"Anything else?" Joffrey asked. Joanna sucked in a breath.
"If you still have any affection in your heart for me, please, do me this kindness, Your Grace," Sansa begged.
Joffrey sat back in his throne and seemed to consider Sansa's request. Joanna watched him, but she couldn't determine if he was truly considering it or if it was all for show.
"Your sweet words have moved me," he said. Joanna was hit by the sudden realization that he was truly considering her plea - or, rather, whether or not she had groveled enough for his liking. It was in his demeanor, in his face, in his tone. It was exactly how he sounded when he decided that his younger siblings had begged for him to stop enough for him to finally end his torment. She knew he was enjoying this. "But your father has to confess. He has to confess and say that I'm the King. Or there'll be no mercy for him."
Sansa nodded. "He will."
Joffrey was not patient, and had set the confession to occur the following evening. Joanna had promised Sansa that she would be there, that she wouldn't have to be alone there with the council and the queen. She had dressed her best, still in her dark mourning gowns, which her mother and the rest of the court had seemed to move away from quite quickly. In the late afternoon, they all crossed the city to the Sept of Baelor, where Lord Stark's confession would occur on the steps.
Joffrey sneered and smiled when he saw her.
"Come to watch the show?" he asked.
"I'm here for Sansa," she answered. Joffrey frowned.
"I'm your brother," he said, as though that should inspire loyalty in her despite the mutual hatred they'd shared as long as she could remember.
"Sansa is still your betrothed," she said. "She'll be my sister one day."
That did not please him, as he stepped closer to her and pointed to his chest. "I'm your King."
"When you marry, she'll be my Queen," Joanna insisted. She stepped past him. "I'm here for her."
She continued up to the landing in front of the great doors of the temple. She had been to the Sept twice before in her life, for the funerals of Jon Arryn and her father. It was not a place that she particularly enjoyed being, and getting to it was always an ordeal, as the entourage moved slowly through the crowd. For as much as she hated being cooped up in the keep, she also could not stand the crowded city.
The people of King's Landing had flocked to the Sept to see Lord Stark confess his crimes. They were loud, crying about the traitor and holding their fists in the air. Joanna stepped up beside Sansa, touching her arm gently. From across the courtyard, they could see goldcloaks leading Lord Stark out from the dungeons. The crowd roared louder when they caught sight of him, grabbing at him, cursing him and demanding his head.
"They hate him," Sansa said softly.
"All that matters is your father's confession," she assured her. "What the people think holds no weight."
The crowd quieted as Lord Stark took his place at the center of the landing. He looked out over the crowd for a moment before his confession began.
"I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King." He turned to look at Sansa – for strength or affirmation, Joanna didn't know – before turning back to continue his confession. "I come before you to confess my treason in the sight of gods and men. I betrayed the faith of my King, and the trust of my friend Robert. I swore to protect and defend his children, but before his blood was cold, I plotted to murder his son, and seize the throne for myself."
The crowd cried out again. Joanna put her arms around Sansa's shoulders in comfort, squeezing gently when she jumped at a rock that had hit Lord Stark. An unusual wave of resentment rose in Joanna's stomach at the people in the crowd. What did they know of any of this? Only lies that they were told, from Lord Stark's mouth or anyone else's. She wondered briefly if Sansa was naïve for thinking her father innocent, or if she was naïve for believing her.
"Let the High Septon and Baelor the Blessed bear witness to what I say. Joffrey Baratheon is the one true heir to the iron throne by the grace of all the gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."
The crowd still was not pleased at Lord Stark's proclamation, crying out once more. Sansa looked to them in shock, before turning to Joanna. She shushed the girl, directing her attention to Maester Pycelle, who spoke now.
"The gods are just, but beloved Baelor taught us that they can also be merciful." He turned to Joffrey. "What is to be done with this traitor, Your Grace?"
Joffrey rose his hand to quiet the clamor of the crowd.
"My mother wishes me to let Lord Eddard join the Night's Watch, stripped of all titles and power so you would serve the realm in permanent exile. And my lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father." He was quiet for a moment. Sansa smiled. Joffrey turned back to the crowd. "But they have the soft hearts of women. As long as I am your king, treason shall never go unpunished. Ser Ilyn, bring me his head."
The three women beside Joffrey shot towards him immediately. Joanna shouted in anger, Sansa cried in fear, and Cersei spoke in harsh and level tones. A kingsguard grabbed Sansa by the arms and held her back when she stepped towards her father. Joanna turned from Joffrey, who was ignoring all pleas for him to be merciful – to be smart – and turned towards their mother.
"You can't let him do this," she said, tugging on her mother's sleeve like an insistent child. Cersei's sole focus was on Joffrey.
"Listen to me. Stop this," she hissed. Joffrey only tugged his arm out of her grip, smiling with glee at Lord Stark. Lord Varys hurried over, beseeching Joffrey to have mercy, but his voice was lost among the riotous voices of the crowd. Joffrey seemed to revel in their excitement, shifting from foot.
"He doesn't know what he's doing!" Joanna cried, growing more desperate as more time passed with nothing changing. Cersei was silent now, had stepped away from Joffrey, but Joanna was not so quickly subdued. "You can't let this happen! This isn't –"
"Don't look," Cersei cut in, turning towards her sharply. Over her shoulder, Lord Stark was being pushed to his knees. Sansa was wailing in her ears and Joanna didn't know what to think about first.
"Mother, please!"
"If you don't turn away, you'll never forget it," she said. The glint of sunlight on steel over her shoulder caught Joanna's attention. She hadn't meant to, it was just a reaction, but she turned her head to look. The sword fell heavy through the air and down upon Lord Stark's neck. In an instant, his head was on the ground, and a rush of blood followed. Joanna started physically, staring wide-eyed at the body before them.
"Gods," she whispered.
A heavy weight fell against her legs and she stumbled away, turning to see Sansa's limp body on the ground. Joanna stared for a moment, slow to process what was happening after the shock of what she'd seen. She blinked, shaking her head and kneeling down at Sansa's side.
"Someone pick her up," she barked, unsure of who was near to follow her orders, but the kingsguard who'd been holding Sansa back came to her side. "Get her back to the Red Keep before she wakes."
"The King hasn't ordered, my lady," the knight said. Joanna looked up at him, staring for a moment.
"I am the King's family and you will do as I say!" she snapped. "Take her back to the Keep now!"
He hesitated for a moment before sliding his arms beneath Sansa and lifting her from the floor. Joanna stood, sucking in a deep breath. She wasn't sure how long it had been since she'd last taken a breath – or how long it would be before the rolling in her stomach would make her sick. She followed Ser Mandon off of the bloodied platform, leaving the screaming crowd and the corpse of Lord Eddard behind.
A/N: Sorry y'all :( I love Ned Stark as much as the rest of the world and it hurts me to kill him off, but maybe one day I'll have the time and talent to write a Ned lives AU. Until then, hopefully the fact that this chapter is longer than usual will help you feel better.
Happy first update of 2019! Hopefully the year has been going well for everyone, and if not hopefully the impending final season of GoT will make it better! I'm super-duper excited to watch it, but at the same time it makes me realize just how much of this story I have left to write. But rest assured that I really don't have any plans on abandoning this fic and I intend to keep writing updates until my hands fall off or the story is finished (whichever happens first.)
I'd really like to thank annavale23, Crystal-Wolf-Guardian-967, Lt-Spork89, Silent Wolf Singer, FoAteAZombie, darkwolf76, and camelotprincess1 for the reviews! Your feedback and support is really my driving motivation for writing this, and I really love and appreciate you guys for taking a few moments to leave me a comment. Thank you so much!
Also! Important update: I've had an AO3 account for, like, two years now and just never got around to using it. So! I realized that if I post two chapters of Winter Winds on AO3 every weekend starting this coming weekend, it will be fully updated - and ready for a brand new chapter to update - by the Season 8 premiere! So that's what I'm intending to do. After that, I'll be updating this story both on here as well as on AO3, so if you're a reader who tends to prefer AO3, then you'll be able to find this story over there as well! Once this story ends, I do plan to use AO3 exclusively. That is also where I plan to post any other fics I may or may not decide to start during the process of writing this one. I'm rexaquilo on AO3, so that's where you'll find me!
(UPDATE: You can find the story on AO3 under the title Gold Shall Be Their Crowns. There will be minor edits/updates to the story, but nothing drastically plot-changing. And, again, I'll still be updating the story both on AO3 and once I get all caught up on posting chapters to AO3.)
I may or may not get around to writing another chapter before the Season 8 premiere. I'm in my last semester of university so really anything beyond, like, a week in the future is up in the air. If I don't end up getting a new chapter to you before that, though, I'll still be re-posting two chapters on AO3 every weekend in case you wanted to (wink wink) reread some chapters and (wink wink) leave some comments.
ANYWAYS! I hope you enjoyed the chapter, at least as much as you can with Ned getting dead. I'd love it if you could take a moment to let me know what you think! I'm really excited to write the rest of this story and I hope you're all excited to read it :)
Until next time,
Rex