Mid September, 298 AC

Eddard awoke to the sound of screaming. What on earth is going on? He quickly threw on a robe. Someone was pounding on Eddard's door, and he yanked it open to find Jory.

"It's Sansa, Lord Hand- Septa Mordane can't wake her," Jory said, moving out of his way as Eddard made for Sansa's room. Jory trotted to keep up with Eddard's long, brisk strides. The screams were echoing off the walls, creating ghost screams that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Sansa's chambers were as tidy as usual, her clothes put away, her books neatly stacked but for one on the table. It was a stark contrast to the chaos within. Septa Mordane stood beside Sansa's bed, wringing her hands. Arya and Jeyne were on either side of Sansa, their hands over their ears as they tried to wake her.

His oldest daughter's eyes were shut tight, her screams and sobs the only sign that she did not sleep. Eddard raised his hand, then hesitated as he looked at little Sansa.

"I already tried slapping her- it didn't work!" Arya yelled over the screaming.

Suddenly, the screams stopped. Sansa's eyes snapped open. For a moment Eddard could have sworn her eyes were white, but Sansa blinked and he saw her mother's blue eyes. Just a trick of the light and the early hour.

"The baby," Sansa cried, tears pouring down her cheeks. She seemed unaware of Arya and Jeyne hugging her.

"Sansa," Ned said gently, sitting on the bed beside his daughters. "It was just a nightmare, you're safe."

He nodded at Septa Mordane, who curtsied and took her leave, Jory behind her. Sansa shook her head, her chest rising and falling as she took fast, shallow breaths.

"He killed the baby, he smashed his head against a wall, he hurt her!" Sansa sobbed, reaching for Ned and clinging to his chest. Arya and Jeyne stayed where they were, their eyes enormous. Ned stroked Sansa's hair carefully, trying to think of what to say.

"It was just a nightmare," he said finally. To his surprise, Sansa shook her head.

"It was real! The baby was crying and he picked him up by one leg and smashed and smashed and there was so much blood, and the princess was screaming and then he threw her on the floor, he was on her, he opened his breeches and pulled up her skirts, he was hurting her!"

Ned's entire body seemed to freeze. Dimly he realized Sansa was weeping hysterically into his robe. Jeyne burst into tears. Arya just stared, first at Sansa, then Ned.

"Princess Elia," Arya whispered, her little face crinkled with sadness.

"How did you know of this?" Ned asked, horrified.

"Sansa overheard Joffrey saying Ser Gregor got rid of some Targaryens," Arya said. Her face was as stern and stony as Lyanna's statue in the crypt.

"What else?" Ned demanded. Vague rumors could not have caused such dreams.

Arya shrugged.

"That's all."

Ned shivered despite the warmth of the room. Sansa had dreamed the worst rumors Ned had heard, and she had dreamed clearly, as though she watched it happen in truth.

He still could not forget the sight of Princess Elia. Her black hair had been placed over her face, but it could not hide that her skull was caved in. Elia's skirts were torn and bloody, and something looked wrong with her legs. Her children were beside her, wrapped in the same crimson Lannister cloaks. The baby prince had been unrecognizable, his head a gaping ruin, the toddler princess covered in dozens of stab wounds. Tywin Lannister had not smiled, but there had been a cruel satisfaction in his cold gaze. And Robert had turned away, and wed the daughter of the man who gave the command. The Robert I grew up with died that day, I was just too blind to see it.

"Ser Gregor is a monster," Sansa sobbed.

"Why didn't someone stop the Mountain?" Arya asked.

"The Kingsguard weren't with Princess Elia and her children," Ned said heavily. "Any other guards were slain."

"But where were the Kingsguard?" Sansa asked, her voice muffled by his robe.

"Weren't you there?" Arya asked.

I was, and I did nothing. Robert ignored my protests, and I did not stay to fight for justice. I rode south to find Lyanna dying, and went north with a babe and my sister's bones. I never came back, I never should have come back.

"I was," Ned finally replied. "I named it murder, but the King named it war. He—" the words choked him. "Robert said they were dragonspawn, not babes. He was glad he didn't have to worry about Targaryen heirs challenging him someday."

"Princess Elia wasn't a Targaryen," Arya muttered.

"No," he said sadly. "Robert did not even try to justify what befell Princess Elia, but he did nothing to condemn it either. Never before or since have I felt such rage. I left that very day, for fear of where that rage might lead. We did not speak again until after Lyanna's death."

Sansa sobbed louder.

"He hurt her," Sansa sobbed, clutching him tightly. "What was he doing to her?"

His daughters were too young to know of rape. Far too young. Gods, I need Cat. Ned looked for the door, as if Septa Mordane would come in and save him. When no such salvation appeared, he sighed deeply.

"All three of you have helped Rickon change clothes or bathe, yes?" Ned asked, praying his guess was correct. All three girls nodded. Jeyne's tears were subsiding, though Sansa was still weeping into his robe.

"Do you remember seeing that his, ah, groin was different than yours?" Three heads nodded again.

"The part between a man's legs is his staff. Women have a maiden's place. When a lord and lady are wed, they lay together and the lord- the lord puts his staff inside the lady's maiden's place, and that is how children are made."

All three girls nodded again, Arya's face scrunched with disgust.

"When a man forces a woman to-to touch his staff, or he puts it inside her against her will, that is called rape," Ned said, praying there would be no questions. His prayers were not answered.

"Why would someone do that?" Sansa asked, so quietly he could barely hear her. Her nose was stuffed up, and he suspected his robe would need washing later. Ned paused and thought for a long moment, trying to decide how to explain.

"There are many reasons. A man may want a maid who does not want him, and he takes her anyway."

"Like Aegon the Unworthy and poor Queen Naerys," Sansa murmured. Ned nodded.

"Or a man may want revenge on his enemy, so he rapes a woman his enemy loves."

"That's not fair," Arya said.

"Or a man may simply be cruel, vicious- someone who knows that rape is a terrible thing, and enjoys hurting women."

"Like the Mountain," Sansa said. Ned sighed.

"Yes, like the Mountain. Now, Arya, Jeyne, go back to your chambers. I'll stay with Sansa until she falls back asleep."

Arya opened her mouth to argue, but quailed under Eddard's stern glance. When the girls were gone, Eddard gestured for Sansa to get back under the covers, and he sat with her for a moment.

"My dream was real," Sansa insisted, her eyes fluttering as she drifted off.

"Perhaps," Ned replied uneasily. Sansa had no way of knowing what happened. How did she dream it?

"Dreamed... Bran..." Sansa yawned, and then she was asleep. Ned kissed her forehead, and slipped out of the room.

It was nearly dawn- there would be no more rest for him before the damned tourney. Ned dressed himself and quietly made his way down to the godswood with Jory as his only guard. The sun was just barely over the horizon, a salty breeze coming from the sea.

"My lord?" Jory suddenly said, interrupting his reverie.

Jory's eyes were wide as he pointed towards an isolated corner of the godswood. Ned's eyes were less sharp than Jory's, so he walked toward the place Jory was pointing at. Eddard only took a few paces before he saw what Jory had seen and dropped to his knees.

It was a weirwood sapling, crowned with bloody leaves.