The clamor in the courtyard fell into an eerie silence after Ned and Robert left.
Lynn leaned in the shadows of the colonnade, watching the two figures disappear into the entrance of the crypts.
One was his nominal monarch. The other was his temporary protector. These two men were brothers and comrades-in-arms. And both of them were stepping into the abyss.
The smile on Queen Cersei Lannister's face had long vanished, her eyes now full of fury. She stared in the direction of the crypts. That gaze looked as if it wanted to burn that dark entrance to ashes.
Jaime Lannister stood by her side, wearing a careless smile. With a gloved hand, he gently patted the Queen's tense shoulder, a gesture intimate and ambiguous.
"My dear sister, why get angry over a dead person?" His voice was low, carrying a hint of mockery. "A king must have some harmless hobbies."
Cersei didn't speak. She simply withdrew her gaze, her cold eyes sweeping across the entire courtyard, finally landing on the Stark children. Especially Sansa.
---
The steps to the crypts were wet and slippery from melted snow. The crypts themselves were always warm because Winterfell was built atop hot springs.
Ned and Robert walked among the generations of Stark dead, their footsteps echoing in the vault. The torchlight danced in the narrow passage, stretching their shadows long and distorted. The air was filled with a scent of dust mixed with cold.
Robert Baratheon didn't say a word, just panted heavily. His obese body seemed clumsy on the narrow stone steps.
Ned followed behind him, equally silent. He could feel the oppressive emotions radiating from the King. It wasn't the majesty of ruling the world. It was a heavy sadness, almost crushing enough to break a man.
They passed rows of statues of Stark ancestors. Those cold stone figures, clutching iron swords, watched the visitors quietly.
Soon, the two stopped in front of three stone sarcophagi arranged side by side.
This statue was of Ned's father, Rickard Stark. He sat solemnly, stone fingers tightly gripping the sword lying across his knees. The two sarcophagi beside him were his children. One was Ned's older brother, Brandon. The other was Ned's sister, Lyanna; she was only sixteen when she died.
Now, only Ned's younger brother Benjen remained alive in the world.
Robert knelt before Rickard's statue, bowed his head respectfully, and then stood up.
"Jon Arryn is dead."
Robert's voice suddenly rang out, breaking the suffocating silence.
Ned paused. "I know, Your Grace."
Robert turned around. The torchlight illuminated half his face; his eyes were bloodshot.
"I respected him. Although I don't know how he died. But I know I'm surrounded by vipers, Ned. Liars, cowards, and sycophants. I can't trust anyone."
Robert's gaze was fixed dead on Ned's face.
"I want you to be my Hand."
It wasn't a request. It was an order.
Ned's heart sank sharply. He thought of Catelyn's worries, of the peaceful years at Winterfell, of his children. He wanted to refuse.
So, he knelt on the ground and said tactfully, "Your Grace, I am a Northman. I do not belong in the South."
"Listen to me, Ned." Robert took a step forward, his massive figure almost completely engulfing Ned. "I'm not here to discuss this with you. I need someone I can trust with my back. In all the Seven Kingdoms, I only trust you."
"And me? I'll eat, drink, and whore my way to an early grave. Damn it, Ned, stand up and talk."
Robert pulled Ned up. "You helped me win this damn iron chair; you should find a way to help me keep it. We were meant to rule together. And our houses were meant to be joined, if your sister Lyanna had lived."
"Fortunately, it's not too late. I have a son, and you have a daughter. They will continue all of this."
Ned avoided Robert's gaze. "Jon's son..."
Robert quickly shook his head. "He's only six! Let him inherit the title of Lord of the Eyrie!"
Ned was somewhat surprised. House Arryn had served as Wardens of the East for generations. This was supposed to be a hereditary position!
Robert explained, "How can a six-year-old be a Warden? He can't lead troops in war. If nothing else works, wait two years until he grows up, then give it back to him!"
Since Robert put it that way, Ned knew the Arryn family had already been "arranged" by Robert. I'm afraid I've been arranged too, Ned thought. The will of a king cannot be defied.
"I obey your command, Your Grace." Ned's voice was very low.
Robert got a little angry. "Damn it, Ned, stop fucking calling me 'Your Grace'. Call me that again and I'll beat you to death!"
Ned gave a helpless smile.
After this interruption, the sadness on Robert's face dissipated somewhat, replaced by a trace of exhaustion.
Robert turned around to face another statue. Lyanna Stark.
The stonemason's skill was excellent, forever freezing her youthful appearance in stone. Even the cold stone statue couldn't hide the wildness and beauty belonging to the North.
Robert reached out. That huge hand that once wielded a warhammer was now trembling slightly. With rough fingertips, he gently caressed Lyanna's cold cheek.
"Why did you have to bury her in a place like this? She should have been with the blue sky and white clouds..."
"Ned... I dream at night," Robert's voice was as light as a sigh. "In my dreams, I kill him over and over again. Rhaegar. I use my warhammer to smash open that fancy armor of his, smash every bone in his body. Over, and over again."
In the crypt, there was only the crackling sound of the burning torch.
"You already killed him, Your Grace," Ned reminded him softly.
"Did I?" Robert withdrew his hand, the sadness on his face instantly replaced by a bone-deep hatred.
"But I still haven't hated enough! As long as there is one Targaryen alive, I can't sleep peacefully!"
His voice rose steeply, echoing in the crypt.
"That Viserys. And his sister, Daenerys. They are still alive, Ned! They hide across the Narrow Sea, breeding like cockroaches, waiting to come back one day and take everything from me!"
In Robert's eyes, a mad fire burned. "I want them dead. I want to wipe the name Targaryen from this world completely."
Ned felt a chill. That chill rose from the soles of his feet and instantly spread through his limbs. It was colder than the bitterest wind of the North.
Killing innocent children? This violated all the honor and principles he believed in.
He opened his mouth, wanting to say something.
But Robert glared at Ned. "You forgot! The Mad King burned your father alive! He put a strangulation device on Brandon and placed him opposite the pyre. Your father's screams made your brother desperately struggle forward! The louder your father screamed, the more your brother couldn't help but move forward to save him. In the end, your brother strangled himself to death, breathing his last before your father!"
"The ministers were forced to watch the execution. The cowardly dared not speak up to stop it, and the loyal ones, as long as they dared to open their mouths, were all hacked to death or exiled!"
"Ned! Have you forgotten all of this?!"
Looking at Robert's face twisted with rage, all of Ned's rebuttals stuck in his throat.