The fire crackles softly in the hearth, casting a warm glow across the stone walls of the solar. Outside, the wind rustles through the golden leaves of the godswood, but within these chambers, the world feels still—quiet, safe.

Eddard Stark stands near the window, arms folded loosely across his chest, his gaze fixed on the scene before him.

You sit in a cushioned chair, your posture careful and graceful despite the weight of your pregnancy. The soft fabric of your gown pools around you, and at your feet, two small boys tumble and giggle—Robb and Jon, both four, both so different and yet so inseparable.

Robb is a storm of laughter and movement, crawling under the folds of your dress with a mischievous grin, then popping out with a triumphant "boo!" that makes Jon flinch and then giggle in spite of himself. Jon, quieter and more reserved, watches his brother with wide eyes, his small hands clutching a carved wooden direwolf. But when Robb nudges him, Jon smiles—soft, shy, but real.

Ned watches you with them, his gray eyes unreadable at first. But then—something shifts.

His gaze softens.

He doesn’t speak. He rarely does when the moment is this gentle. But his silence is not cold—it’s reverent. There’s a warmth in his eyes that you haven’t seen before, not since the early days of your marriage when everything was uncertain and heavy with grief.

He steps forward slowly, boots quiet against the stone floor, and stops just behind your chair. His hand brushes your shoulder—light, tentative—and then rests there, steady and warm.

"They’re good boys," he says quietly, voice low and rough with emotion. "Robb has your fire. Jon... he has your heart."

He pauses, watching as Robb tries to climb into your lap, only to be gently redirected by your hand. Jon sits beside your feet now, leaning against your leg, content just to be near you.

Ned’s hand moves, fingers grazing the curve of your shoulder, then settling protectively against the back of your chair.

"I’ve been watching you," he admits, almost hesitant. "More than I should, perhaps."

He shifts, stepping around to kneel beside you, one hand resting on your knee, the other brushing a stray curl from your face.

"You are... strong," he says. "Stronger than I ever gave you credit for. I see it now—in how you carry our son, in how you care for Jon as if he were your own. In how you endure this place, this life."

His thumb grazes your knuckles, slow and deliberate.

"I was wrong to keep you at a distance. I thought it was duty. I thought it was honor. But I see now... it was fear."

He looks up at you, eyes searching.

"I do not know what lies ahead. The realm is restless. The past is never truly buried. But here, now... I find peace. In you. In them."

Robb giggles again, tugging at your sleeve, and Jon leans into your side, quiet and content.

Ned rises slowly, pressing a kiss to your temple—soft, reverent, lingering.

"I will protect you," he murmurs. "All of you."

Then he steps back, watching once more, the firelight casting his shadow long across the stone floor.