"You are my sister," Ned begins, his voice echoing the tone of a lecture, however weakened his state, "And my duty as your brother, as your family is to protect you from all that I can. I know how closely you held him to your heart," he cannot quite bring himself to say Rhaegar's name, "But he is not my kin. I have no obligation to shield him from unjust hatred and scorn." His words continue slurring together, like a singular piece of leather twine, being pulled out of his throat and out of his mouth. Although there is some sense to what he says, the inflections of his voice, the melody of it, lend themselves to making him sound more like a mad man than a rational one.

"You were not the one who set the fire ablaze beneath father's feet," he reprimands, his voice showing a sudden burst of strength. "You were not the one who tightened the noose around Brandon's neck and placed a sword out of his reach. You were not the one who sat on a throne and watched with delight while father burned alive and Brandon brought death upon himself in an effort to save him." They haven't yet had a brutal conversation about the deaths of their father and brother, and the words fall out of Ned's mouth without regard for Lyanna's sensibilities or sensitivities. There's a glint of fire in the ice of his eyes, however, as they pierce the air to his sister's face. "You may have brought them to King's Landing, but you are not the reason they were murdered." He manages to lift a hand, press the palm of it to the side of her face. "You cannot live buried underneath the weight of something that was not your doing."