Early October, 298 AC

Eddard pressed a hand to his forehead. Ned believed in the old gods as surely as he believed in the change of seasons and the turning of the moon. They were a part of life, one that he took for granted. He had never heard tell of dreams such as this. His mind reeled at the implications of what Sansa had seen. Cat has taken the wrong Lannister, yet what can I do?

Sansa and Arya watched him, their faces pale and their eyes wide, one pair blue as the sea, one pair grey as clouds. For a moment, he felt as though Cat and the ghost of Lyanna were before him. Yet the details were wrong. Sansa's hair was a lighter shade than Cat's, yet the red was deeper, unmixed with brown. Arya's hair was cut short, as Lyanna's had never been, and her jaw had Cat's stubborn chin. These were his daughters, not his wife, not his sister. So young to bear such burdens. Too young to truly understand the consequences of each action.

That reminded him of another matter.

"The smallfolk of Sherrer and the Riverlands knights left this morning with Lord Beric and his men." Eddard turned to Sansa, giving her a stern glance. "Your septa informs me that Merissa slept in your chambers and did not depart with them."

His daughters' responses were as he expected. Sansa cast her eyes down, while Arya stared, unafraid.

"She was crying in her sleep so Sansa brought her to our chambers," Arya said. Sansa raised her eyes, encouraged by the support.

"I could hear her crying, father," Sansa said softly. "She was so afraid. Our chambers had a guard, a door with a heavy bar."

Ned sighed.

"And what now? Is she to travel alone, with no protection on the road?"

"She didn't want to go home," Arya muttered.

Eddard rubbed his temple, and called for Septa Mordane. The septa brought the girl swiftly. Merissa looked far better than yesterday, though she seemed nervous. Her light brown hair was in a simple braid, and she was dressed in one of Sansa's old gowns. She curtsied awkwardly, and tried to sink to her knees before Arya grabbed her arm.

"It's just father," Arya said, clearly perplexed.

"Merissa," Eddard said kindly. "I regret that you were not able to depart with the rest of Sherrer. It may take a few weeks to make arrangements for you to return home. But my daughter claims you don't wish to go home. Is that true?"

Merissa hesitated, then nodded.

"What skills do you have, child?" Ned asked. If she did not wish to return to Sherrer, work would need to be found for her.

"My mother and I have- we had a few cows," Merissa said, so quiet he could barely hear her. "I fed them and milked them."

The only cows in the city were those needed for fresh milk for the kitchens of the richest nobles and merchants. Ned stroked his chin, thinking.

"Couldn't Merissa serve as my maid, just for a few weeks?" Sansa asked. "I could teach her to sew and do my hair, and then she could come North-"

"Yes, perhaps we could send her north someday," Ned said hurriedly. A milkmaid did not need to know of their plans- indeed, it was better for her own safety that she didn't.

"Are there cows there?" Merissa asked, a tiny bit of hope in her voice.

"Oh, yes, but they're different than the cows here. Much fuzzier, since it gets so cold," Arya interjected.

Eddard gave Septa Mordane the necessary directions. Merissa was to be given appropriate clothes and a pallet in Sansa's chambers. The septa would instruct her in the basic duties and courtesies of a maid.

Once the septa and the milkmaid were gone, Ned looked at his daughters. There was still the matter of Tyrion Lannister. Grand Maester Pycelle would doubtless be delighted to send a raven telling Cat to release Tyrion. But before Ned sent a raven, he must be sure of the letter's contents.

"Have you had any other strange dreams?" Ned asked. Sansa bit her lip, her eyes downcast.

"I... I had dreams of Joffrey as a child, hurting Myrcella, hurting a cat, hurting Tommen," Sansa said slowly, her voice trembling.

Ned's heart clenched. Robert must have known of this. He had known of this, and sought to place Ned's daughter under the protection of such a cruel boy? Ned's mind was made up. Robert could rant and rave at Ned, but he would not have his daughter.

"All the more reason to send you to Winterfell. When you're old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who's worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong. This match with Joffrey was a terrible mistake."

Given that she had seen the prince send a catspaw after her brother and hurt his own siblings, Eddard expected Sansa to be relieved. Instead, her eyes went wide with fear.

"You can't! I promised the old gods, I told them if they brought Lady back I'd plant weirwoods when I was queen, I can't break my oath!" Sansa cried.

Eddard sighed heavily. Children got the strangest ideas into their heads.

"Lady is dead, Sansa," he said gently. "The old gods do not bargain like merchants at a fair. They will not punish you for failing to wed Joffrey."

Sansa twisted her hands in her lap, her brow furrowed as she thought.

"Maybe I could- maybe I could gentle him, maybe I could help him be a good King."

Arya snorted.

"You'd have an easier time making the old king stop drinking."

"Arya, quiet." Ned commanded, his heart sinking as the truth of her words sank in. "Winterfell is safest for both of you. I will hear no arguments on this matter."

Sansa and Arya both began speaking at the same time, one frantic, one calm.

"But I promised—" Sansa cried.

"—my water dancing lessons?" Arya said, her little face wistful.

"I am looking for a fast trading galley to take you home. These days, the sea is safer than the kingsroad. You will sail as soon as I can find a proper ship, with Septa Mordane and a complement of guards... and yes, with Syrio Forel, if he agrees to enter my service. But say nothing of this. It's better if no one knows of our plans, and we cannot trust anyone outside our household."

Arya frowned, her little face confused.

"I thought the King was your friend," she said. Ned sighed.

"When we were boys, yes. But now... three of my men, slaughtered in the street, and Robert goes hunting. I hope that Robert will set things right when he returns, but I will not have you two in danger."

"You're not coming with us?" Sansa asked, her voice shaking.

"I am still Hand of the King. My duty is here," Ned told her sadly. Sansa burst into tears.

Damn Robert for making me Hand again. Eddard doubted Robert would actually make Jaime Lannister Hand as he had threatened, but he could not leave the city while the king was hunting. He was a Stark of Winterfell, not a craven who would flee rather than face his duty. But it hurt to watch his daughter weep, her sobs so forceful he could not make out the words she attempted to say. Arya awkwardly patted her sister on the back, and Sansa's sobbing finally subsided enough that she could speak.

"If I'm not safe with Joffrey, you're not safe with the King. He's Joffrey's father," Sansa sniffled. Ned frowned.

"I may not like all he does, but Robert is nothing like Joffrey," Ned said sternly.

Sansa blew her nose into a handkerchief, a weak smile on her face.

"No, he isn't," Sansa said, her eyes thoughtful. "Joffrey looks more like his uncle than the king."

The world dropped away. There was a pounding in Ned's ears.

Joffrey looks more like his uncle than the King. The prince's face swam into view, his golden curls shining like the sun. The image shifted, and Ned saw Jaime Lannister sitting on the Iron Throne, a boy of seventeen with the same face.

The seed is strong! All those bastards, from the child in the Vale to the blacksmith's boy to tiny Barra cradled in her mother's arms. Every single one with hair black as coal. The truth twisted inside Ned like a knife in the dark. This was the sword that killed Jon Arryn, and it will kill us all if I make but one mistake.