sixthiterationlogs | Gather Ye Roses

Entry tags:

Gather Ye Roses

WHO: Margaery
WHERE: #4 Bungalow, Woods, the police station
WHEN: 4/3 - 4/4
OPEN TO: All
WARNINGS: Nothing, but will update if needed
STATUS: OPEN

The Woods

The mornings were much the same as ever. With winter slowly coming to a close, it meant that many of the plants and flowers would bloom again, allowing Margaery to gather with the same fervency and delight as before. While her walk through the woods had been to collect kindling and winter fruit, she made a point to stop by many of her favored places to inspect how the plants were faring. Were there buds yet? How far along were they?

It wasn't uncommon to hear noises in the woods. There were others more often about now, many hunters or villagers exploring. When she heard a twig snap behind her, Margaery expected to see a familiar face. Instead, a deer slowly walked from the underbrush, sniffing the ground and listening for potential predators. Margaery rooted herself, hardly daring to move or breathe.

She could sense someone nearing behind her. Taking the risk, she raised her hand, signalling for them to stop. "I have never seen a doe this close before." She whispered.

The Police Station (Outside)

The usual sounds of animals protesting filled the air as Margaery opened the station doors to allow her animals out, her dog Gilbert herding them towards the fields where they could graze. There was still no large pen for her to let them roam about in, much to her chagrin. However, this was better. Gilbert had become diligent in keeping the animals in check, ushering back a sheep that strayed too far or yapping at a cow that lingered too long in the grass. It was pleasant, comforting.

She watched from a reasonable distance, scanning the fields for wolves or any other predators. She counted her animals in her head, tallying the amount she saw ever half hour. Many of the sheep were growing fat, a few pregnant with lambs. She would need to find a place for them all soon.

As someone passed her, Margaery tore her eyes away for a moment to smile at the nearby figure. "It is finally becoming warm again!" She announced happily. "We can begin planting again and think more about what we wish to do with the animals."

#4 Bungalow - Closed to Ned

It was common routine for Margaery to work on her weaving once her animals had finished grazing until the sun could no longer provide her proper light. The cold weather no longer hindered her from sitting on her porch, listening to the sounds of the world around her. She had fond memories of spinning during the summer, now she could weave during the spring. There were birds in the distance, optimistic for the coming warmth. Gilbert was at her feet, worn out from his work and napping as she lightly sang "The Bear and the Maiden Fair."

It was only when she came to the chorus that she noticed Lord Stark nearing her home. They had walked together earlier in the morning, having explored the woods and simply spoken about what he needed to learn. Once they returned to the village, they had parted ways and she had left to let her animals graze. She hadn't paid much mind to what the Starks might be doing, but she assumed they'd be together. Not that it wasn't pleasant to find one Stark or another turning up at her door.

She paused in her work, rubbing her hands on her skirts. "Back so soon?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Then you must visit me more often, only then may I show you how deserving of flattery you are. It would be a great error on my part to not properly express my admiration." She insisted, her smile sparkling against the setting sun. There had been enough grim talk for the day. The Starks were often given to serious and sombre subjects, but it didn't need to be now or on her porch. While he was enjoying her company, she intended to make him brighten.

"I fear I have no supper to offer, but if you wish to stay and help, I could make some for us to share?" She would be grateful for the company, more than he might imagine. "Unless you wish to return to your children?"

Which she would understand and accept.

"Truly spoken as though from the lips of a mad woman," Ned jests in reply, shaking his head out of sincere modesty. He knew he had been many things - a good father, an excellent soldier, a decent husband, an honorable man - but such a deluge of flattery makes him feel reprehensibly undeserving. He can see in the candor of her smile and the light of her eyes that she means her words, that there is no hidden shadow lurking just below the surface.

It does little to settle the heat radiating from below the collar of his shirt.

"If you will oblige me, I would like to check on them and ensure their well-being. I will return shortly after to assist you, though I don't know if you will request my return once I've set fire to our meal." Ned stands from the chair with a bemused smirk befit for a Stark, nodded his head, and excused himself from her company.

"You wound me, my lord. It is hardly gallant to accuse a woman of madness." She smiled at his jest, seeing that easy mood returning to him. There was a measure of legend surrounding him, his kindness and moral integrity. Seeing the man beyond the myth had been a pleasant surprise. He was more than the honor that had been described to her. He could actually jest and laugh, something that the Starks often seemed afraid of.

She nodded, feeling a measure of regret that he would disappear for a time. The house was rather empty and she enjoyed his company. "Of course. Please convey to them my warmest greetings." She had come to hold the House dear to her heart.

"Return soon."

After he'd seen to his children, supped with them for a time (though admittedly did not eat more than half a plate's worth so as to keep his belly relatively empty for whatever might be prepared with Margaery), and felt satisfied at their well-being, he excused himself from their company and began the trek back to Margaery's dwelling.

The little he had consumed at the Stark home was enough to tide him over for a period, but he finds himself growing hungrier with each step. He wonders what sort of meal is to be expected, and, more importantly, how much success he can hope to achieve in such domesticated duties - ones all together foreign and unknown to Ned. He knows how to hunt, how to skin a variety of creatures and prepare them for a pot or a fire, but beyond that, his knowledge is scarce.

Once at her door, he raises his fist and lets his knuckles rap against the wood. He takes a step back, hands loosely clasped behind him, as she waits for her to answer.

There was the sound of yapping from behind the door, Gilbert alerting Margaery to Ned's presence before he had knocked on the door. She urged her dog away, opening the door with her free hand. "Come in, my lord." She dragged the sheepdog away, urging him back to the couch where he lay down, no longer worried that Ned was a threat.

Stew was the safest option for supper, less likely to be burned or turn out poorly. This was one of the few meals that she could make and be satisfied with the result. She beckoned Ned to follow her. "I have rabbit, but I need your help in skinning it. I will finish with the herbs I found."

She had nearly finished with the onions, her eyes tearing up from the smell. "Are your children well?"

At the sight of the dog, Ned reaches down to give it a few scratches behind the ear - instantly reminded of his children's direwolves, how coincidental it had all been when they'd found them in the woods as pups. Catelyn had taken the slaughtered mother as a sign of impending doom, especially when Robert had arrived to ask Ned to be his hand, but Ned himself was not a believer in that sort of superstition.

In retrospect, perhaps he should have listened a bit harder.

He shuts the door behind him softly before following her to the kitchen. He gives the place a quick glance as he trails behind her, then tilts his head in curiosity at the tears brimming in her eyes. He connects them to the sight and smell of the onions, and the concern he'd felt bubbling in his chest quickly dissipates; she isn't upset.

"They are, Old Gods be good," he replies, moving over towards the rabbit carcass. "We supped together for a short time, but I was careful not to gorge myself so as to allow for full enjoyment of this meal." He turns towards her as he wrings his hands together in preparation before going towards the sink to wash his hands. It's strange, to have a faucet with running water, instead of a basin and cloth. More convenient, at least. "I need a knife - something small and thin would be best, but anything remotely sharp will do."

She smiled as her pup sniffed at Ned and circled around his feet. "I named him Gilbert of the Vines." It was unlikely the North were familiar with the heroes from the Reach. They had stories and legends of their own. Even if none knew the source of her sheepdog's name, she at least did and had a piece of home. "He helps me herd the animals. When next we let them graze, I will teach you some of his commands." The day might come for Ned to look after such things on his own. Her injury during the lightening storm had left her unable to leave the house.

"Ah, I had wondered if you had forgotten me." Her smiled was gentle, understanding his desire to remain with his children. "I fear I take too much of your time. I shouldn't steal you away from your family."

She pulled a knife from the drawer and offered it out to him. That he understood what he was doing was a relief. While she knew how to make stew and other basic meals, she was far less talented in skinning animals and preparing the meat. "There was a time that I stayed with your children, after my house collapsed. I rather miss the noise and activity. It is far too quiet in this home." She glanced at him fondly. "However much I steal you away, you spare me from that silence. I am grateful."

"Gilbert of the Vines?" Ned echoes, but there's no recognition in his face. "That would be very gracious of you, and I would be pleased to learn. To echo what I've said before, I can only hope that I will prove to be an astute pupil so as not to waste your talents and time."

He accepts the knife but sets it down on the cutting board by the rabbit's carcass. He turns towards her and places one gentle hand on her shoulder, the other taking hold of her hand. He offers a slight shake of his head and a softening of his gaze.

"Do not think you are so easily forgotten, Lady Tyrell," he begins, "At least not by me. My children have established their own lives and routines here in the village. Although we are overjoyed to have been reunited, as you can well imagine, I also respect their independence and lives outside of the home, and outside of me. They are not the young babes I once left behind in Winterfell, and they do not need their old father to dote upon them the way they once did." He drops the hand from her shoulder to take her other hand in his, squeezing both with affection. "Our home is always welcome to you, whenever the silence may grow too loud or too great. And I will gladly allow myself to be stolen whenever you will receive me."

He squeezes her hands again before releasing them, turning back towards the rabbit to begin to dress it properly - starting with a slice at the base of its neck. He makes quick work of the thing, having gone through these motions many times in his life - and before long, he has successfully cleaned and butchered the creature into manageable pieces.

"Would you like them smaller?" he asks, wiping at his forehead with the back of his forearm so as to keep the blood and slime off of his face. "And is there somewhere in particular I could dispose of the inedible parts?"

"All of my animals bear names of heroes from the Reach." It was an amusing secret, one that she didn't mind sharing with him. "Save for the ones named after your children." There was no "Ned" ram or bull...yet. "You are diligent, but you could never waste my time. Even if you were a poor study, I would still enjoy your company. I have someone to talk to while my animals graze, someone to be at my side while I shear the sheep or tend to the cows. Even if you never lift a hand, you help me more than I can express."

She flinches under his touch. While she was free with her hugs, genuine displays of affection towards her had a way of catching her off guard. It was something reserved for family, not for anyone else. She had braced herself against a world of duplicity and deceit. Every touch, every look had a double meaning, it was never honest as Ned's seemed to be now. She was not in control of the situation or her emotions, he was. But his words had a way of softening her fears, soothing her even as her mind fought against it.

"They are your children." She answered, afraid to meet his eyes. "Whether or not they are old enough to care for themselves, they will want you with them. You have been apart for so long, it is natural that they would wish you close. What I wish should fall second to them in all things." Summoning her composure, she squeezed his hands in return. "I don't know if it would be wise. I don't wish to intrude."

She stood beside him, watching as he dressed the rabbit, lost in her thoughts and the feeling of having someone at her side. "No, I think this will suit." She reached for a pot and handed it to him. "Place the parts in this. I will throw it in the woods after supper. Better not to have it too close to the house."

"Heroes from the Reach?" Ned replies with amusement in his voice. "A rather creative system you've found." But her admission of naming animals after his children elicited a bark of laughter he was quick to cover with a stretch of his fingers along his chin. "I can only hope your animals are better behaved than my children when they are hungry and tired." There could be no person - in this world or the next - who could doubt Ned's love for his children; of course, in addition to speaking of them with fondness and love, it also meant making quips about them when the opportunity presented itself.

Ned knows the lingering effects Westeros has on the minds who'd inhabited it. He finds himself regarding almost all he meets with a degree of suspicion, often too high and too abundant for a place as removed as the village. Each word, each display could be nothing more than a rouse, a disguise, a ploy to force his hand, render him vulnerable and exposed. And yet, with Margaery, he found he did not fear those things - perhaps because of their removal from King's Landing and the Lannisters' reach, perhaps because of their commonality in having grown in a world as harsh as the Seven Kingdoms, perhaps because of the girl - frightened and alone - he could see in her eyes, whenever she thought he wasn't looking.

"And I, of course, want them as close as they will allow me. There is nothing that can undo the bonds of blood and flesh as I share with my children, not even the edge of a sword or the tip of an arrow. But they are grown, and will continue to grow. It's the natural way of things, for children to outgrow their parents when the time comes." He falls quiet for a moment. "I will not force you to join us when the silence looms, but I hope that you will remember the invitation."

With a nod, he takes the pot and discards of the cut-off limbs, head, fur, and innards that were of no use to the stew. He carries the cutting board and knife towards the sink, where he washes them both, as well as his hands, of whatever was left of the rabbit.

"I would never dare say a word against your children, my lord." Her curls shielded the secret smile on her face, hiding her amusement. "What father would believe them?" Just as she knew his children had a high opinion of their father. With his reputation, it was only natural that they wish to emulate him and to act in a way that would make them proud. With such lofty expectations (however self imposed), it was little wonder that the Starks were so stern and withdrawn. "Perhaps if my cow births a bull, I might have an 'Eddard' as well? I would have a barn full of Starks."

For all he does not say, he saw a great deal. She knew and recognized this, but did little to mask her expressions, even when she felt his eyes on her. There was little point anymore. Whatever her habits had been before, it was unnecessary in this world. Her pride would want her to shield her fear, but all else would be simple to read. It was something they all shared. Loneliness, feelings of isolation, uncertainty, a longing for something though they could not say what. He would understand, so it did not need to be kept secret.

"It must be wonderful to have children." She had hopes once, but they were wrapped in her ambition and need for security. She never considered children outside of the throne. Perhaps it was better she never bore any? While she couldn't say what sort of a mother she'd be, it likely wasn't as good or nurturing as Lady Catelyn must have been. "I will remember the invitation, only so long as you promise to visit as often as you are able."

After the rabbit was placed in the stew and the pot was set to boil, she offered Ned a seat before the fire. "Perhaps someday I will be able to offer bread as well."

"A barn full of Starks. I do believe that might be a Lannisters' most dreaded night terror," Ned replies with a hint of amusement in his voice. "Though I do not know how accurate a name it could be for a creature such as that." Mention of bulls brings Gendry back into mind, seeing him at the blacksmith, holding the bull helmet he'd insisted hadn't been for sale. It had been like looking at a younger Robert - the one that Eddard had known, befriended, and fought alongside all those years ago. The resemblance had been breath-taking.

"I did not often think so when they were being particularly trying or difficult, but I could not - and would never want - to imagine my life without them." There's a very obvious softness in his voice whenever his children are a topic of conversation, as though the love he feels for them could be extracted from each syllable, knitted into a sweater. "I believe we have reached an accord to benefit us both."

With a gracious nod, he sits himself near the fire and adjusts his clothing. He can't quite get used to the strange linens they had here, though that struggle seems to get easier as the days wear on.

"Are there bakers here, in the village?"

"A pity there are no Lannisters to inflict that nightmare upon." She spoke the words with more ice than she had expected or intended. The shadows of the fire were cast over her eyes, showing how haunting those memories truly were. The price of power and all she had lost in acquiring it. The Lannisters were the source of great suffering, even their own.

"You are a good father, not only from all that I have heard from your children, but from how you have cared for them here. The rumors of your character were not a lie or embellishment. You are truly kind and good." It was why she knew that nothing should stand between him and his children, including this world. "They are fortunate to have you guiding them."

Gilbert slept at her feet, hidden beneath her skirts. "There are those who know how to bake, I believe. I have never learned, but I should like to when the means are available to us."

Ned considers her quietly for a moment, noting the soft rage burning in her eyes - flames brighter than the fire against which they say, and more deadly, too, he imagines. He does not blame her nor hold it against her for having such dark feelings about their house; if anything, there is something in him that echos her fury.

"One can never be entirely certain of what is said in whisper or in shadow, but I am grateful to hear that the murmurings of me and my kin were not all terrible," he replies. "Children deserved to be raised properly - never doubting for once that they are loved and wanted, never sheltered, learning the ways of the world when appropriate and needed." He and Cat often quarreled on differences of opinion on the latter topic, such as when Ned had Bran accompany him, Robb, and Jon to behead the deserter. Cat hadn't been all too pleased, believing Bran to be too young - but Ned had felt differently. He had been old enough to know the sometimes cruel ways of the world. "I would argue that I am more fortunate to have them guiding me, but your sentiment is appreciated."

He reaches a hand up, idly scratching at the scruff at his chin, gaze lazily wandering back towards the flames in the hearth.

"I'd always admired those who could create with their hands. Blacksmiths, bakers, armorers, carpenters, and the like."

It isn't a side to herself that she wants Ned to see. That anger, that fire is not something she normally feels. She fought against such personal desires, knowing well that grudges and vendettas had a way of creating a chain effect. She had known that, but it hadn't been enough to save her. As much as it was her instinct to fight it, a part of her didn't want to, needing that flame to smolder inside of her and finally die out.

"You are right in that, which is why I was taught it was important to bear a certain image." It was the closest she would come to exposing the inner workings of her mind. "However, it seems that your family was spared from such gossip, even without attempting to follow my House's example. You were viewed as honorable. Very few are granted such regard, even by those that are outside the politics of King's Landing."

She watched him as he scratched his chin, nudging his foot with hers.

"Farmers?" She suggested, her face bright as she teased him.

"Indeed; oft times, we are nothing more than the image we present to those around us. Though it seems such necessities are not as dire here as they were back in Westeros," Ned reflects, exposing the sense of relief in his tone. He isn't sure if he'll ever entirely abandon that line of thinking, as it's been all he's known until now - but it is a heavy mantle lifted from the width of his shoulders to not have to pretend so much anymore.

"We weren't spared entirely, my lady, but we managed well enough. Being so isolated up North had a hand in that." Theirs was an ancient house, descended from the First Men, and they had a long history of being considered as cold and unfeeling as the wintry land they inhabited. Ned had always preferred it to be as such.

The nudge of his foot draws him out of his mind with the hint of a smirk.

"Yes, of course - farmers, too," he laughs. "I don't think my father would've imagined me pursuing that line of work in a thousand years."

"No, it isn't as dire here." She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. There was privacy in her home and a level of honesty that she hadn't expected. "I'm not certain I know how to be anything else." She wouldn't go into details, but all she knew was how to search for what others desired and present that image. She could camouflage herself in plain sight, but it was a useless skill in this world. So what did she do now?

"The North is vast and its own entity." She mused, turning her head to look at him. "Little wonder your son was named king so easily. It has always been known that the North is too independent to be claimed by southroners." It was a pity that Renly and Robb had failed to achieve anything. There could have been a real alliance between them. The North might have had what they wanted and Renly would be king.

She grinned. "I think your father would appreciate practicality. You Starks seem to have a great deal of that."

"We are nothing if not adaptable, m'lady," Ned replies, easily catching on to the wariness and uncertainty in her tone. "You are no fool; you've been gifted a sharp mind and quick wit. I have no doubts of your ability to make a life for yourself here, should you choose to." He gives a sweeping glance around before bringing his attention back to her. "It seems you already have started, if I may be so honest."

Ned offers a slight nod. He's not yet been told of everything that transpired after his death, as all of his children seem hesitant to shatter his spirit. Jon had been the most honest, though even he held his tongue on most matters outside of what urged him to leave the Wall and break his vows.

"Were you privvy to the events surrounding Robb's assumption of a Northern throne? My children have refused to divulge the details to me thus far, and I must admit to the dark and treacherous places my mind has wandered off to in their silence."

"I have little choice but to make a life here." She summoned a smile to her face, trying to chase away the awkwardness that she had stumbled into. "I do have a comfortable life in this place, something at least to fill my days." Even if it didn't give her complete meaning, not in the way being Queen had.

It wasn't her place to tell him the fates of his children, not the complete story (for those she knew.) They would tell him when and if they were ready. Though it was a surprise that he hadn't been told that much. He was at least aware of his death, or so she believed.

"I was not present then. I was wed to Renly during at that time and we joined our forces. Your lady wife was sent by Robb to seek Renly's aid, acting as his proxy. I was fortunate to meet her then." That was at least safe to say. "I believe your bannermen named him king."

"There is always a choice, m'lady, but oft times the alternative is so unthinkable that it may as well not be an option at all," Ned replies, eyes flicking from her to the fire. He thinks about that - not often, not most days - but every so often, he wonders what life might've been like had he arrived and not been met so immediately and wondrously by his children. He wonders whether he would've been able to have endured thus far had they not been reunited.

But now is not the time for such dark musings.

His gaze doesn't return to her face as she speaks. Even now, he can hear the careful filtration of her words, the deliberate secrecy she maintains.

Gods, he thinks, how terrible had it been that there isn't a soul to spare the truth?

He nods a bit, to acknowledge that he's heard her words and the facts she's decided to share with him - however vague they might be. Mention of Cat feels like a dull dagger in his chest, gnawing and aching all at once, and he absently rubs his fingers against his breastbone to ease it away.

"And then?" he asks, voice a bit more grave and weighty.

She watched him carefully, sensing a silent plea in him to know the full details of what happened after his death. As much as she didn't want to overstep her place, Ned was no fool and didn't want to be left in the dark. His children didn't seem eager to tell their ordeals with him, but he wasn't blind. He had to know there was some darkness in their pasts.

Margaery sighed, rising to her feet to collect a bottle of wine. This wasn't a conversation to have without some libation. She handed him a cup and returned to her seat. Turned towards him, she leaned on her knees, careful to hold his gaze. If she was to reveal the truth to him, she would make certain she would only give as much as he could manage for one day.

"What happened still weighs heavily on Robb, I believe. He wishes to make you proud. He s not to blame for the duplicity of Roose Bolton, Walder Frey or Tywin Lannister. I wish I knew how to make him understand that, but perhaps you could help him?" It was difficult to see him punishing himself. "He is a good man and I think a better king than any of the others that seemed to emerge shortly after Joffery took the throne."

But that was neither here no there. "I was in King's Landing with Sansa when I learned what happened. Robb had pledged himself to Walder Frey's daughter to earn Lord Frey's support. However, Robb wed a daughter from House Westerling." A woman Margaery knew little about, save for her association to House Lannister. "Robb was undefeated on the field, so Tywin Lannister sought other means to remove the threat of him."

She took a long drink of her wine. "I don't know how it came about, but Walder Frey and Roose Bolton seem to have conspired with Tywin. Lord Edmure Tully was to marry one of Walder Frey's daughters. During the wedding, while supposedly protected by Guest Rights, Robb and his men were killed. It was..." barbaric, heartbreaking. There were a number of words to describe it. "Walder Frey was given Riverrun and Roose Bolton was named Warden of the North."

The rest, how Joffery celebrated, how Sansa was tormented, she would spare Ned for now. The knowledge of the Red Wedding would be painful enough. She nearly reached for his hand, but kept hers folded in her lap. "Both Joffery and Tywin were killed not long after." As though that could be any comfort.

When she shifts and moves, then returns with a fetched bottle of wine, Ned can only breathe out something like a laugh. But there's no joy in his eyes, no glitter of amusement that she's now seen more often than perhaps some of his family. There is foreboding, worry, concern. If she deemed it necessary to allow the comfort of spirits to infiltrate his mind (and perhaps his heart), he can only begin to predict what might be to come

He takes the cup all the same, nodding a small bit of gratitude. He lets his gaze linger in its whirling liquid, his hand lightly circling the cup in the air. He knows enough to raise his eyes to meet hers, though - it's the least he could do, if she is going to finally lay the truth at his feet.

"Jon revealed to me Bolton's betrayal; I could not believe my ears when he first told. Our houses had been allies for a thousand years." Just the thought of it made his blood boil with rage, though he kept his fury tamped down. Mention of Walder Frey's betrayal, however, is something new. Ned feels the grip on his cup tighten somewhat as he listens. He has no doubt of his son's ability to rule, though he had wished the title forced upon him at a much later age - long after Ned had been able to impart the wisdom he'd accumulated over the years.

He exhales a quiet sigh at the mention of Robb betraying an oath to Frey's daughter, especially given that it had been for an alliance. But all of that fades as Margaery continues. He can feel the color draining from his face, puddling at his boots. He rests the bottom of his cup on his leg to keep it steady, his hands trembling with -

He isn't sure what. Sadness, anger, devastation, disbelief .. it was a great many emotion currently surging its way through Ned's veins, and it took all of his strength to keep himself moderately composed in the presence of another person.

His jaw clenches as his gaze lands somewhere on the ground. There are tears stinging the backs of his eyes, though no liquid falls onto his cheeks. He wants nothing more than to run to Robb, embrace him with every ounce of strength he might have left, and attempt to soothe away whatever guilt he might still carry. How could Robb have met such a cruel fate? My son, he thinks through the tremors wracking his body. My boy, my son.

Ned barely hears mention of Joffrey and Tywin's fate, though something in the back of his mind registers it with some exaltation of joy. There will be no tears spared for their deaths, especially when news of Robb's .. (he cannot even think the word death) .. demands all of them. He presses his fore and middle fingers to his lips, willing the rumbling bile to stay in his stomach instead of spouting forth the way it wants.

"Thank you for telling me," he manages to whisper, though his voice sounds far away, as though echoing through a canyon from a great distance. "Thank you for your honesty."

There was no joy in the telling of it all. Even before the words passed through her lips, she knew the pain this would cause him. While she didn't understand what it was to be a parent, she knew that Ned loved his children deeply. Before meeting him, she had seen the pride they each carried when they spoke of him. It was the sort of respect and reverence that came from a loving family, one that was close and deeply entwined.

She had offered to tell him, lifting that burden from Robb's shoulders, but it didn't make it any easier for Ned. She was glad that she had enough foresight to stagger what she would tell him. Better to let him absorb and process this before she told him of his wife and how she had been killed alongside Robb. There was only so much a man could take and Ned, while strong and weathered, could easily break from the sorrow.

"Power has a way of corrupting." She murmured, able to understand what prompted House Bolton's betrayal, though it was strange such deceit came from a Northern house. The Northmen were normally renown for their honor and loyalty. Roose Bolton shifted with the turning tides, seeing an opportunity and seizing it, no matter if it meant going against the laws and traditions of men.

She set her glass to the side, reaching out to place her hand on his arm. A small touch of comfort as she watched him absorb it all. "I can't imagine what you must think or feel in hearing this. It is all justified. These seasoned men didn't know how else to defeat Robb, so they used underhanded means." Just as Cersei had, but as soon as that thought appeared in her head, she pushed it away hastily. This wasn't about Cersei or herself, it was about the Starks. They were a house that suffered greatly and far too often.

"He didn't know how to tell you." Her hold tightened, trying to impress strength into him as well as all of the compassion that burned within her heart. "Ever since he arrived in this place, I think he's carried this guilt and belief that he is the cause of your family's struggles. Or that he isn't the man you would want him to be. It isn't his fault, none of what happened is his fault." He wasn't ready to hear about his wife yet, but it was important to press that fact to him. He would need to bear in mind what cowards these men were when he learned the rest.

She gave his arm a tug, urging him into a hug. "Don't let this defeat you." Her voice was soft, a soothing murmur in the night. "This is a place of second chances, for all the strangeness and frightening occurrences. Whatever else happens here, you have your children and the opportunity to live as a family. You can start again and find happiness with them. They need you to show them that." He was the iron that strengthened his house and the one who could show his children that they could be happy. She had no doubt of that.

Finally, she pulled back, catching his gaze. "You will find the way forward. I know you will."

Edited 2017-05-16 21:50 (UTC)

Power has a way of corrupting. It echoes in his ears and although he knows it to be true, Ned's heart still cannot fathom a desire, an urge, a hunger so great that it would drive a once-great house to betrayal. He knows that his biggest downfall had been believing in the purity of others, holding them to the same standard to which he held himself and his family when it came to honor and duty, and that he had put his trust into a basket laden with holes and tears. He knows this is what ultimately brought about his demise, believing Cersei would have done the right thing, but how many had taken drink from the same sort of river? How many would be so quick to disregard and murder others in the pursuit of power, perceived or otherwise?

The touch of her hand on his arm manages to draw him away from the darkness of his thoughts for but a moment, and he's only able to keep his gaze on hers for a breath before it retreats to the floor once again.

"No, surely not. None of it should fall upon his shoulders," Ned whispers, his other hand coming to pinch the bridge of his nose between his eyes. "If it is anyone's burden to bear, it is my own; had it not been for me, Robb would never have been unjustly thrust into becoming a Lord before his time. It is a guilt that is all my own." And it is one that consistently ate away at Ned, from morn until eve, made worse whenever he gazed upon his eldest.

Her embrace is a shock, but not an unwelcome one. He does not return it with his own arms, now devoid of strength and ability, but he appreciates it all the same.

"Yes, you - you are right," he murmurs into her shoulder. "I've not done enough to help them. I've been too caught in my own thoughts and musings that I've been blinded to their needs and what they require of me. I will - I will show them."

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Gather Ye Roses

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/later/

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