Morton Waynwood collapsed on the ground.
The arrogance was gone. Only bone-deep terror remained.
The fog in his mind—the euphoria, the fearlessness—was lifting. Reality hit him like Robert's warhammer to the skull.
What did I say?
What did I do?!
What the fuck was I thinking?!
He'd threatened the king. In front of every noble in the Seven Kingdoms. With the Vale's armies.
Morton looked up. Saw the remains. Meat and charcoal. Petyr Baelish's remains.
Two Gold Cloaks approached. Threw a heavy, blood-dripping sack into his arms.
"Ser Waynwood."
One spoke. Emotionless.
"This is His Grace's message to Lady Lysa Arryn."
"The king said you must personally deliver this generous gift to Lady Lysa."
The weight of the head. The wet, sticky warmth. Morton whimpered.
He knew. This wasn't just Petyr's head.
This was his own death warrant.
He'd be the Vale's pariah.
Morton scrambled to his feet. Clutched the head. Stumbled away like a beaten dog.
He didn't look back at King's Landing.
Not once.
As Morton fled, the last ripples of the farce faded.
Ned Stark rose slowly.
His face—usually carved from honor and resolve—was ashen. Dead.
He didn't look at the blood on the ground. Didn't acknowledge the stares.
He walked to his daughters. Lifted unconscious Sansa with numb calm.
"Arya. Let's go home."
His voice was soft.
Arya stared at her father's trembling back. At Sansa's pale face. Her small fists clenched.
She said nothing. Just followed.
Lynn watched the Starks leave.
The once-unbreakable Warden of the North looked like a wounded wolf. Limping. Licking his wounds.
The Tower of the Hand. Ned's Study.
Fire crackled in the hearth. Its light danced across the massive map of Westeros on the wall.
King's Landing was warm. But Ned lit the fire anyway.
Only fire made him feel like he wasn't in the South. Like he was home. In the North.
The ice wolf was homesick.
Ned Stark drained a cup of Dornish amber. The liquid burned his throat. Did nothing for the cold in his chest.
Lynn sat across from him. Didn't stop him.
Just watched. Quiet. As Ned drank. Cup after cup.
The study was silent. Only the sound of pouring wine. The occasional crack of wood in the fire.
"I was wrong, Lynn."
Finally, Ned spoke.
He didn't look up. Just stared at his cup.
"Catastrophically wrong."
"I thought Robert was just... drunk. Temperamental."
A smile twisted Ned's lips. Uglier than crying.
"But today I realized. He's not Robert anymore."
"The man I grew up with in the Eyrie. The man who handed me a lance at tourneys. The man who gave me his back in battle... he's dead."
"Dead on that damned Iron Throne."
"The thing standing there today? I don't know him."
"A monster. Fed on suspicion and fear."
Ned gulped more wine. It spilled from his mouth. Ran down his beard. He didn't care.
"He suspects me, Lynn."
"Me!"
"Catelyn!"
"House Stark!"
"We were brothers!"
"How did it come to this?"
Ned slammed his cup on the table.
CRASH.
Glass shattered. Shards cut his palm. Blood mixed with wine. Dripped.
"How dare he?!"
Ned's voice was a growl.
Gray eyes blazed with suppressed rage and heartbreak.
"He mutilated the Master of Coin in front of the realm!"
"He wants to humiliate my wife because of some madwoman's threat!"
"Because they're sisters?!"
"What kind of horseshit logic is that?!"
Lynn silently pulled a white cloth from a cabinet. Offered it to Ned. For the blood.
Ned didn't take it. Let the wound bleed.
The pain in his hand was nothing compared to the pain in his chest.
"I knelt today."
Ned's voice dropped. Like he was describing someone else.
"In front of everyone. I knelt."
"I let him humiliate me. House Stark. The entire North."
Lynn looked at him. At the shame and struggle twisting his face.
"You didn't kneel for him."
Ned's body jerked.
He looked up slowly.
Red-rimmed eyes met Lynn's.
"You're right."
Anger crept into Ned's voice.
"I didn't kneel for him."
"Not for the realm's peace either."
He grabbed Lynn's arm with his bleeding hand. Gripped tight.
"I knelt for Catelyn. For Sansa. For Arya. For Rickon and Bran!"
"I won't let him hurt them! Never!"
Madness flickered in Ned's eyes.
"Honor..."
He chewed the word. The word he'd lived by. Self-mockery dripped from his tone.
"I thought honor was everything."
"The foundation of House Stark."
"But King's Landing taught me. Here, honor is a joke."
"It can't protect my family. Can't spare my daughters from terror. Can't even earn the king's trust."
"It's just a gilded cage. A cage that made me watch my friend become a monster. Watch my family in danger. And do nothing."
Ned released Lynn's arm.
Walked to the window. Stared at the night-shrouded city.
King's Landing in the dark. Ready to devour.
"Bringing them here was the stupidest decision of my life."
Regret soaked his voice.
"I won't make the same mistake again."
He turned. Looked at Lynn.
All weakness, all pain—gone. Only resolve remained.
Lynn recognized that look.
Sandor Clegane's eyes before he walked into fire.
A cornered beast. Ready to fight to the death.
"Lynn."
Ned's tone was grave. Unprecedented.
"You were right. In this game, rules are for the dead."
"I don't want to die."
"And I won't let my family get hurt."
He picked up the cloth. Wrapped his bleeding hand. Slow. Methodical.
"Robert wants my wife to kneel in King's Landing."
His voice was terrifyingly calm.
"He crossed the line."
"King and Hand. Friend and brother. As of today, none of that exists."
"I, Eddard Stark, am a husband and father first. Hand of the King second."
Ned looked up. Eyes burning.
"I need your help."
Lynn studied him.
The sleeping ice wolf had finally woken.
No longer the honor-bound Lord of Winterfell.
A beast. Ready to tear apart anything threatening his pack.
This was exactly what Lynn wanted.
"It would be my honor, my lord."
Lynn's voice was calm.
Ned's body stilled at the answer.
He looked at Lynn—the young man who'd soon be his son-by-law. Warmth flickered in his pained eyes.
His future son-in-law. Always trustworthy.
"I need to send Sansa and Arya back to Winterfell."
Ned's voice was firm.
"It's too dangerous here. They can't stay."
"Agreed."
Lynn nodded.
"Once Myrcella arrives, I'll arrange the most reliable escort to take them to Winterfell."
Lynn didn't mention Sansa's... situation. Ned was too fragile right now. Telling him would only add to his burden.
Better to wait.
"No."
Ned shook his head.
"You can't go by land. Too slow. Too easy for Robert's men to spot."
"They'll go by sea."
Ned walked to the map. Jabbed a finger at the harbor east of King's Landing.
"I'll commandeer the fastest ship. In the Hand's name."
"Your men get them safely aboard."
"Done."
Lynn had no objections.
Sending Arya would be simple. The girl hadn't ridden a dragon yet. Perfect chance to let her taste the clouds.
"One more thing."
Ned's gaze left the map. Returned to Lynn.
"Catelyn... she can't come to King's Landing."
"Robert wants to humiliate her. Humiliate House Stark. Maybe even lure her here to kill her. I won't allow it."
"But I can't openly defy the king's command."
Struggle flashed in Ned's eyes. Quickly replaced by resolve.
"So I need a reason."
"A reason that leaves Robert—and everyone else—speechless."
He looked at Lynn. Each word deliberate.
"I need the North... to have a small 'rebellion.'"
Lynn nodded slightly. Studied the cold madness on Ned's face.
A fake rebellion. To keep Catelyn in Winterfell. To defy the king's order.
Bold. Insane. Risky.
If exposed, it was treason.
But it was the only option.
"A rebellion?"
Lynn repeated.
"Yes."
Ned's gaze darkened.
"Say... unruly bandits. Raiding Northern villages. Burning. Looting. Killing."
"Catelyn, as acting Lady of Winterfell, must stay in the North. Maintain order. Stabilize the people. She can't leave for King's Landing."
"My lord, that reason is sufficient."
Lynn smiled.
He admired Ned's transformation.
The wolf had finally learned to use claws and fangs. Not just the wolf's honor.
"My lord, I believe I can help."
Lynn stood. Walked to Ned's side.
"Among my people, there are some... restless individuals."
"I think they'd enjoy a trip to the Northern countryside. And they'd be happy to help you stage this play."
Ned looked at Lynn's knowing smile. His taut nerves finally eased.
This young man had surprised him too many times. Coming to him was the right choice.
"Thank you, Lynn."
"No need for thanks. Once I marry Arya, we're family."
Lynn smiled back.
"The North has an old saying: The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives."
"Now is the time for us to fight together."
Ned nodded heavily.
He looked at the dawn breaking outside. No more confusion in his gray eyes.
Robert. My brother.
You forced my hand.
I have no choice.
~~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~~
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