Ned Stark's body ached as he was dragged from the dungeons, his limbs stiff from confinement, his mind heavy with the weight of the decision he had made. The damp, suffocating darkness of his cell gave way to the blinding brilliance of the sun, a cruel reminder of the world he was about to leave behind. His muscles protested with each movement, stiffened by the long days of imprisonment. His beard was unkempt, his once-proud posture now hunched under the weight of his sorrow and resignation. As he stumbled forward, his thoughts raced back to the conversation that had sealed his fate.

Varys had come to him in the dead of night, voice hushed, eyes unreadable. The Spider had laid out an offer: confess to treason, acknowledge Joffrey as the rightful king, and in return, his life would be spared. He would take the black and live out his days on the Wall. More than that, his son Torrhen would be ordered to stand down and submit to the boy-king. In exchange for Jaime Lannister's release, Arya and Sansa would be returned to them, while Robb would be sent to Casterly Rock as a squire—a hostage under the guise of honor.

He had refused at first. How could he, Eddard Stark, kneel to a usurper's bastard? How could he betray the truth for a lie? But then he had thought of his children. He had thought of Arya, alone and lost in a city that sought to harm her. He had thought of Sansa, confined, frightened, and vulnerable in the castle. He had thought of Robb, who would be thrust into a viper's nest should he agree, and Torrhen, who would be plunged into leading a rebellion at such a young age.

Torrhen was strong, he was sure of it. His eldest son had already bested the Kingslayer in battle, had already taken Riverrun, and he would not be easily swayed or broken. But Robb? Arya? Sansa? If this continued, they would all suffer. His family, his people, would bleed for his honor. And so, he had made his choice.

Now, as he was dragged into the Sept of Baelor, the roar of the crowd slammed into him like a storm. His head spun, disoriented by the voices, the jeers and cheers mingling together in a terrible chorus. The brightness of the day seared into his eyes, so long accustomed to darkness, and he nearly stumbled. When he blinked the haze away, he saw her.

Arya, barely more than a shadow, standing at the base of Baelor's statue. His breath hitched, but he schooled his features into calmness. If she was here, she was in danger. As he was walking towards the platform, he crossed paths with Yoren and intentionally bumped into him.

"Baelor," he shouted in the man's ear.

That was all that needed to be said. Yoren's eyes flicked toward the statue, saw Arya, and immediately moved to retrieve her. Ned felt a sense of relief, knowing that Yoren would do his best to protect her.

Then his gaze moved to the platform where Sansa stood, smiling at him with teary-eyed relief. Ned immediately deduced that they had been informed of the deal and that he would take their offer. She believed she would soon be going home. He could see the hope in her face. He clenched his jaw, swallowing down the grief that threatened to rise.

And then he saw Robb. His boy stood rigid, expression cold and unyielding. But Ned could see the fire burning beneath, the effort it took to keep himself composed. He smiled at his son, pride swelling in his chest. In that moment, Robb was not just a boy. He was a wolf, standing guard over his sister, protecting her even in uncertainty.

A hard shove to his back sent him to his knees.

"Ned Stark, you stand accused of treason," Grand Maester Pycelle declared. "Of conspiring to murder our beloved King Robert and usurp the rightful throne of his heir, King Joffrey Baratheon."

The crowd erupted into a mix of cheers and jeers. Ned barely heard them. He kept his gaze ahead, his voice steady, even as bile rose in his throat. "I am guilty," he declared, forcing the words from his lips. "Guilty of treason. Guilty of conspiring against my true and rightful king."

There. The lie was spoken. His children would be safe. He turned his gaze to Sansa, to Robb, offering them the only reassurance he could.

Joffrey stood then, stepping forward, his young face twisted with self-importance. "Good," he said, his voice carrying over the crowd. "Let it be known that Lord Eddard Stark has confessed his crimes and has pledged loyalty to me. He will take the black and live out his days at the Wall."

Sansa exhaled in relief. Robb remained frozen. Arya was nowhere to be seen.

Then Joffrey grinned.

"But," the boy-king continued, his voice gleeful, "my mother wishes me to be merciful. My sweet lady Sansa has pleaded for her father's life. But traitors do not deserve mercy." His expression twisted further. "My father would have wanted me to deal with him swiftly. Ser Ilyn, bring me his head."

His words took a heartbeat to sink in.

Then the world tilted.

Sansa screamed. Robb surged forward, held back by the Kingsguard. The air thickened with the crowd's deafening roar. Ned turned sharply, searching—

Arya. There. But Yoren had her. Good.

Then he turned back, gaze snapping to his children "Robb! Sansa!". Sansa's sobs wracked her body, her blue eyes wide with horror. Robb, still fighting against his captors, his face twisted in grief and rage. It was all falling apart.

No.

Ned shook his head sharply, commanding them with a single gesture. No outbursts. No protests. Be strong. Live.

Robb met his gaze, chest heaving, teeth clenched, but the message was clear. He turned, grabbing Sansa's trembling hands in his own, grounding her. Their silent understanding passed between them. Be strong.

Ned exhaled. Good lad.

With one last glance at them, he smiled. Not for Joffrey. Not for the court. For them. A father's last gift for them. Then he turned his gaze to the statue of Baelor, searching. Arya was gone.

Relief flooded him. She was safe.

The executioner unsheathed his blade. Ned closed his one last glance at them, he smiled. Not for Joffrey. Not for the court. For them. A father's last gift. Then he turned his gaze to the statue of Baelor, searching. Arya was gone.

Relief flooded him. She is now in Yoren's hands.

And finally, Torrhen. The son who bore his burden now. The son who would lead them through this storm. Thinking of him put a smile in his heart. He would not say it, but he was his favorite, the pride of his life. He was truly happy to have him as his was confident Torrhen would not falter but rise, making their enemies regret ever crossing the wolves.

Fate had been cruel to House Stark. It had stolen his father and brother, taken his mother too soon, claimed his sister and now him. But fate had also blessed him with strong, wise, and beautiful children.

And the seven kingdoms would know that winter is coming. The wolves will roam and hunt. They will howl in the day and in the night, bringing fear into their enemies' hearts.

Ned closed his eyes.

The executioner unsheathed his blade and cut off his head cleanly.