Author's Note
I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire.
The boy King looks confused for a moment, and Ned sees the conflict on his face as the first flakes of snow tumble from above. He staggers on the spot, his eyes sliding in and out of focus.
Then he steadies himself and smiles.
"My mother has asked that I allow Lord Eddard to take the black! He would forsake his titles and spend his life in exile!"
He shakes his head and waves a hand at Ned.
"My advisors believe he should be executed! Treason can never be tolerated in my Kingdoms, and examples must be made of traitors!"
He steps up to the stage and for the first time Ned sees Robert in him, the Robert that had spared Barristan the Bold and invited his former enemies to march with him.
"But by what measure has Lord Stark committed treason? My father was thrown from his horse; it was a most tragic accident that we all here have mourned! And I'm sure no one has felt more sorrow than Lord Stark, who was once his closest friend!"
Behind him in the royal box, his mother looks surprised, while his siblings appear nervous. Varys, who is standing away to one side, his hand still bandaged, appears perplexed, as though having expected this to go differently.
"No one wants justice for my father more than I, but I cannot achieve that through the execution of an innocent man! I shall grant Lord Stark a royal pardon."
Surprised whispers run through the crowd. They were expecting blood, the death of a traitor, not this.
King Joffrey signals for his tongueless executioner. "Ser Ilyn, free Lord Stark from his bindings and see he makes it to the Maester."
As the manacles are released, Ned finally finds Sansa's blue eyes in the crowd, glowing as brightly as ice, her hands weaving a song in the air.
#
Ned isn't sure he trusts Grand Maester Pycelle, nor the look in his eyes, but Oath's return to his side brings him strength. He's not sure where his children went, but if Oath is here, they can't be far. Ned can feel the wolf at the edges of his mind, and he feels the rest of his pack too, Sansa and Bran closeby with Lady and Summer; Robb and Arya and Rickon further with their own wolves; and something else beyond his reach, as though stretched too far for him to touch. It feels familiar, something he has known all his life, but he can place no name to it.
The Maester helps him bathe, which might have been humiliating had Ned not been so shaky on his feet, and tends to his wounds.
Only after he has been dressed in Stark grey silk and sat on a bed to recover are his children allowed to visit.
Jory is with them, though he looks tired and wounded, his jacket smeared with old blood and his face smudged with dirt. Pycelle gives him a critical look. Jory shrugs. "Apologies for my condition, my Lord."
"Sansa and Bran–"
Are with him, looking like wild things that wandered in from the woods, Bran's hair filled with twigs and Sansa's dress decorated with flowers. Ned feels them, their love and joy and acceptance as they leap to meet him.
"You understand now," Bran says, and his voice is like bells inside Ned's head.
"I do," he replies.
The storm he can see through the window of the Maester's tower is inside him as well, the ice and the wind and the snow, all are his to command.
