A Vow Without Honor

The Players

Ned

They came to him without warning, manservants dressed in plain clothes. In the light of their torches, he spotted rags and buckets of water.

The day of the trial had arrived.

He did not fight as they scrubbed him clean, stripping him of his dignity and treating him with far less care than a man would his horse. He had no doubt Cersei wanted his humiliation to be as thorough as possible. She'd have probably had him dragged into court in his current state if it weren't for the stench.

It proved how little she knew of him. He was a man born from war, who lost his father, brother, and sister in swift, successive blows. If the Queen thought a rough bathing was going to break him, she was certainly not as intelligent as she believed herself to be.

His hands bound, a city watchman half dragged him through the dungeon. Ned marveled at the distance they walked, wondering how far the space truly extended. Given the Red Keep's history, he had no doubt it was once filled to the brim with prisoners, hostages, and the like. Some grim part of him predicted it might very well end up that way again.

The natural light that met his eyes as he finally stepped free from the darkness was blinding. Ned paused for a moment, hands blocking his view, but it was far too long a wait for his guard.

As a testament to how long he had been kept in such wretched conditions, it took the guard but one swift yank on the rope binding his hands to pull Eddard Stark off his feet and onto the floor. It was a sad reminder of how far he had fallen in so short a time.

"Get up," the guard barked, as if he was somehow intimidating. Ned met his eyes, a cold sort of defiance growing in him, one he had not felt since his youth when Targaryens reigned and his friend was neither king nor dead. This boy in armor would know that it was not some common peasant he thought to frighten, but the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.

Ned stood slowly. He was taller than the boy, yet the guard looked neither intimidated nor impressed. Perhaps they had both seen better days.

"Move," the boy said. Ned simply looked at him. He could not have been much older than Robb.

Robb, his eldest son, alone at home with his younger brothers, acting Lord of Winterfell. He had no doubt in his mind that the boy had called the banners. Although Ned wished he would not, he could not deny that the boy was right to. Had he not done so when his own family was here in King's Landing, in this very same predicament?

Were his children doomed to live the past he had tried so hard to forget?

"I said move," the boy continued, moving his hand as though he were about to slap him across the face.

A gloved hand, however, caught him by the wrist, thus avoiding further embarrassment on Ned's part.

"That's enough." Ser Barristan Selmy spoke quietly, but with an authority that brought the boyish nature out in the guard. His eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open with an audible 'pop.' All the guard could do was nod as Barristan took up his role.

"Give them a little power and suddenly it makes them all lords," Barristan noted as he watched the boy leave. "Wish I could say it was never like this before, but I'm a terrible liar."

Ned straightened himself. "You shouldn't speak to me like this. You guard those who accuse me, after all."

"And I will continue to do so until I draw my last breath," Barristan replied, glancing briefly in his direction. He looked resplendent in his Kingsguard armor, white cloak shimmering in the early morning light. A far sight better than himself, Ned was sure. "That does not mean I cannot believe my own truths. There are those of us who know that what you stand accused of is nothing more than a lie to keep these events in motion."