Chapter Text
EDDARD I
HIS CHILDREN WERE AVOIDING HIM, well two of them were, the other was more weary of his presence. He and Robb had travelled back towards Winterfell with his Lady Catelyn, they hadn't spoken during their nights together, it had been difficult formulate words to let out into the open air, but Robb gravitated towards him in silence.
His other two children, the ones he knew were alive and well had simply vanished from view.
He can still remember the vicious shock that rocked through him at the sight of his second and third eldest children, they had been standing together at the high table over looking the Northern Lords. Jon stood nearly a head taller than Eddard had last seen him, his dark curls pulled away from his solemn face, dressed in the colours of house Stark he looked like the Old Kings in the books ned once read as a child. There was no crown on his head but he knew that he was looking at a king.
Sansa had grown even taller, standing with her back straighter than a pole, her hair was no longer woven in to those fancy southern up-dos she had obsessed over as a child, instead her fire kissed hair had cascaded down her shoulders, framing the face that had lost all softness of youth. Her blue eyes like frozen lakes.
He can remember the joy he felt, all consuming, all encompassing as he pulled his children into his arms.
But the joy was fleeting.
It had been two days since their arrival and Winterfell had plunged into a state of hesitancy, a limbo of confusion and fear of the future.
His stands on the battlements over looking the training happening in the courtyard.
The dead are coming, we all must prepare.
His eyes flick over the young men and women training, his eyes linger on a girl who's face is scared from grayscale, she is a Baratheon through and through. The princess Shireen looks nothing like her father, she looks like her grandfather Steffon Baratheon, had his calm temperament too. Next to her its the boy Ned had come to know as his son's steward, Davon Seaworth, the son of Jon's most trusted advisor, Ser Davos Seaworth, the onion knight.
Over looking their training are a duo Ned had never thought to see side by side. The Bronze Yohn, Ser Yohn Royce, and standing beside him is none other than Ser Byrnden Tully, the Blackfish. it was like a young boys fantasy come to life. Two legends overseeing your training from their glorified posts. He had only been back in his home for less than two days yet he was able to piece together bits and pieces of what was happening around him, Ser Yohn arrived leading the men of the Vale, beauty their new Lord Baelish, but there was no doubt that the older man held no love for his Lord Regent.
Ser Brynden was there for Sansa, that Ned was sure of, but he couldn't ignore the fondness in the old knight's eyes when he looked at Jon, he looked content, proud even. Yet, Ned noted the frightening absence of Tully men, any sort of Riverlands man, within the keep.
He had questions, a great many questions.
He looks around again and spots Ghost, the dire wolf had grown into the size of a small horse, it blends into the snow, his red eyes fixing on him from where it sat. It meant either Jon or Sansa were near by. Sansa most likely, in the two days that Ned had been home he had noticed that the white wolf followed his daughter everywhere and from what he had heard from others it was by Jon's request.
Jon Snow is protective of his Lady sister.
That statement had warmth blooming in his chest.
Jon had protected Sansa.
Guilt eats away at the warmth.
Jon protected Sansa where he and Robb had failed.
He sighs dropping his head in shame. His daughter suffered because he put his honour before his family. A flash of red catches his attention and he spots his daughter and son leaving the Godswood. They walk briskly, their strides perfectly in chorus with each other. Sansa is talking quickly her expression alarmingly concerned, Jon looks less concerned and more exhausted, his lips move slowly and whatever he's attempting to say seems to be an attempt to soothe his sister's worry.
They stop in the courtyard for just a moment, Jon speaks, Ned can hear the rumble of his voice but is unable to catch what he is saying. He watches Jon cup the back of Sansa's red head to draw her close, he drops a kiss on the crown of her head, her shoulders slouch, and he pulls away to look at her, they exchange words. Then they separate.
Jon heads towards the Crypts, Ghost stands from where he is sitting and trots towards Sansa, her Lady Knight, Brienne of Tarth and three intimidating women with spears join them from where they had been waiting. Lurking in the corner of the yard is none other than Lord Baelish, watching on, his gaze hungry.
Ned is worried.
The North has enemies to all sides and another from within.
Sansa turns and marches for the Keep, but as she does her eyes sweep up, there is no joy in her expression at the sight of him, in fact she seems to grow pale, she looks away.
Ned frowns, his heart twisting in his chest.
He shifts on his feet upon the battlements, and thinks through his options, he needed to talk to his children, all of them, all of his family within these walls needed to sit and talk, he needed to know what happened in his...absence, if that was even the correct word to use. He heard whispers in the halls by passing workers, knights and handmaidens.
...There was so much blood...
Tormented within her own home...
Wouldn't let anyone but her brother touch her, wouldn't even let the maester see her, the king had to beg her, brought a wilding healer, but even then...
Did you hear what the Boltons did to Little Rickon? He was just a babe when he left these halls, now he is in the crypts...
Jon Snow poor boy heard him crying to his sister, paid in blood this place, did not want to be Lord of Winterfell, not with his brother's lives as it's price...
Did you hear? Betrayed by his own men, the Wildlings said he died, he looks alive enough to me...
Avenged the Red Wedding, them two, the North remembers...
All these puzzle pieces but so much missing to piece the image together.
His children had suffered.
Lady Arya hasn't been seen in years, dead in ditch somewhere...
And the young Brandon? Said to have burned with Little Rickon by the hands of the treacherous squid, but it seems it was a lie...
Did you hear what the Bolton did to Greyjoy? Broke the traitor beyond recognition. Death would have been a mercy...
He shook his head to clear his mind of whispers. Too much said but so little knowledge behind those words. How was he to know what was true and what was false? The only way to ascertain the truth was by talking to the children.
They knew their own stories, they were his only link to the truth to the scale of his failure.
Promise me, Ned, promise you'll protect him.
Promise me.
Promise me...
Promise...
He had failed her, he truly had.
"You Starks and your brooding," he nearly flinched at the sudden company, he turned to his right to find his wife's uncle standing beside him, his expression stern and unyielding. Ned wondered when the knight had made his way up to the battlements. He was tall, just a bit taller than Ned himself, though he was much leaner, his hair had lost it's auburn sheen, taking on a dull grey, his face was lined with age and red from the cold. He looked at Ned, his bushy brows raised slightly, his Tully blue eyes, the same shade as Catelyn's were sharper than knives.
"His Grace is worse," he muttered gruffly, referring to Jon, "Lady Sansa is not much better, though she tries to deny it. She is as much of a brooder as the rest of you lot."
Ned felt his lips twitch upwards.
"Though she is a much prettier sight than the rest of you."
"Aye,' Ned agreed, Sansa had always been the pretties of the bunch. Same could be said about Robb but he had a habit of making ugly faces. "She is," he flicks his gaze down ward to find that the group that had been trying had switched out with another. This group led by Podrik Payne, the Lady Knight's squire.
Payne...
Enemy?
He didn't look like one.
"What brings you, Brynden?"
The Knight released chuff and cocked his head, "To your sour presence or to the North?"
Ned shrugged, "Both."
"Sansa called for me, she had heard of my success of taking Riverrun back from the Freys," he explained, looking like he may explode in rage at any moment. "She hoped that I may assist her and Jon in taking back their home," he looked at Ned, "They were in desperate need of men, Ned, two to six, the odds were not in their favour."
Jon...
His grace...
"I don't see any of your men," Ned observed.
"Because they aren't any!" The Blackfish raged, slamming an angry fist down against the old stone.
"You were successful in taking back Riverrun, you said."
"I was," he agreed. "I amassed an army along side my insolent Nephew, and kicked the Freys out on their asses, they tried a pissing pathetic siege to try and take it back, it did not work, but then the Lannisters came, the Kingslayer at their head," Ser Brynden was red in the face and Ned was sure it had nothing to do from the cold. No he could see steam pouring from the old knight's ears. "We were holding strong, but then my stupid, insolent, brute of a nephew surrendered to them!" He shook his head, and Ned's eyebrows rose.
Edmure had surrendered to the Lannisters.
"I barely escaped, had to swim, got to the Trident, before answering Sansa's summons," He shook his head, "It may had been just me, but those two, they had enough hope. By the time I had arrived they had another three thousand or so men added to their ranks. The Flints, the Norreys, the Wulls, the Knotts."
Ned listened with wrapped attention.
"Your daughter had sent for Littlefinger's help but we had no time to wait, not anymore, your son," there it was, the fond smile. "Not many men like him these days. Good man, strong man, smart too."
Ned raised his brows at his uncle in law.
"I don't give compliments easily," The Backfish admitted, "you know this well."
"Aye."
"But Jon Snow deserves every bit of praise given to him," he clicked his tongue. "Tactical genius that one, looked at our numbers and planned accordingly, barely had to say a word, until it came to Little Rickon," he look at ned in pity, "I am so sorry, Ned,' He pressed a hand to Eddard's shoulder.
Ned had to look away.
"He tried," Brynden dropped his hand and looked down at the training small folk. "He tried to save him, he did but he was already lost to us. His heart is fragile, tore the lad to pieces seeing it happen. He tried Ned."
I tried, Ned! I tried to bring her back--!
You failed!
Then where the hell were you?! Our sister needed us and you were off wiping Robert's arse!
"Was-was it painful?" he whispered, his throat aching, his heart screaming in devastation. "Did he suffer?"
The Blackfish was silent a long moment. "It was a quick death."
Eddard nodded.
His children had suffered.
"Do you know what happened before then? Before the battle?"
Now deemed the Battle of the Bastards.
Ser Brynden frowned, "I know enough from what I've heard. If you want the full picture you must speak with them."
"My children are avoiding me."
"I don't blame them, you're basically a ghost come to haunt them."
"You don't seem scared of me?"
Ser Brynden smirked, "I have faced worse than ghosts, living men are the true horror."
Ned nodded, "Aye."
"Lord Robb is avoiding you too?"
Lord Robb.
Not King.
The Young Wolf.
"No," Ned shook his head, "He simply doesn't want to speak with me."
"You're not the one he wants to speak to."
"No," Ned sighed.
"To be fair," Ser Brynden looked at him, "I wouldn't want to talk to you either."
This mess was Eddard's making.
"If you can't catch your children's ear, speak to Ser Davos," Ser Brynden suggested. "The Onion Knight has both their ears tied around his neck," he clapped Ned on the shoulder in farewell and left the Stark to his musings.
From his place on the battlements he watched Jon leave the crypts, his son never looks his way.
Promise me, Ned...
Promise me...