[Chapter Size: 2900 Words.]
Third Person POV.
Winterfell.
...
...
Daemon left the coffin with the wight still growling behind the bars and returned to sit on the throne, as if all of that had been nothing more than a demonstration of little importance to him.
He observed the people staring at the creature with fear in their eyes.
"Does that an... does that an we can beco those things?" one of the ladies exclaid in horror.
"If we lose this war, probably yes. Unless you simply ask soone to take this life before your body is burned," Daemon replied, letting the answer linger in the air.
The place fell into silence; the only sound was the growling of the undead. Daemon looked at the man who had brought the wight and, with a slight nod of his head, the man understood and nodded back.
The man took a wooden lid and placed it over the hole with the iron bar, covering the bars and also the creature's head. The growling continued, but now much quieter, muffled inside the coffin.
"We can continue talking about the wight later and the war that will co for all of us, my lords and ladies. I only wanted to introduce our true enemy here, and that this will be our war — far more important than the war for the throne, I must say," Daemon announced.
So of the Northern lords remained with thoughtful expressions, like Lord Reed, while others looked indifferent, like Lord Tallhart, who had risked seeing the wight a few days earlier, running to Daemon in search of an explanation about what he had heard from the free folk.
Most of them were taken by horror, and Daemon could not bla them for that — among them Lord Umber, Lady Karstark, and Lord Cerwyn, who had been only children when everything began. Even Robb Stark grimaced; Brynden and Rickon were frightened. Arya, however, had a curious look, alternating between disbelief and a strange kind of admiration.
"Well, let us move on to the second topic," Daemon announced. He wanted to gain even more of the North's trust, and the second phase, before judging the other prisoners, would be to show the North why he was so opposed to his uncle.
"Lord Stark," he announced, while his uncle — who was still looking at the closed coffin and listening to the muffled growls with concern — turned his gaze to his nephew seated on the Iron Throne.
"I want to begin now with your judgnt, before bringing in the other prisoners, because I prefer that the North already knows exactly why our rift exists. So, I would like to resolve this as soon as possible," Daemon spoke calmly, while Lord Stark tightened his hand around the hilt of Ice, making many nobles notice the sword in Lord Stark's hand for the first ti.
"Let us begin, then," Daemon said, settling comfortably in the throne and staring at the man with an indifferent expression. "I rember when I lived here in Winterfell. I realized I was treated differently from my supposed 'brothers'..."
Daemon's voice echoed through the hall, and everyone began to forget the fact that there was still a wight growling inside the upright coffin.
Now, a great mystery was about to be revealed once and for all — for Daemon Targaryen had even mortal intentions against his uncle, and the hostility between them had beco legendary in the North over the past year.
"I rember that you even tried to do what you thought was right in the beginning. Since you had Maester Luwin teach along with your children to read and write in the early years, and I felt like a Stark just like my brothers here in Winterfell. Little did I know how naïve I was at that ti... to tell the truth," Daemon mocked with a bitter smile. "But soon, I began to notice things over the years. I saw that sothing was wrong, and little by little I was no longer studying alongside your children. I rember that you took out of the lessons, saying that your wife needed to arrange so things for , and I accepted without complaining. I knew hatred as one of the oldest things in my life — I wanted to be useful, maybe she could accept ..."
"And so I did, since cleaning the kennel and the stable full of dung and filth would be far more important than having a formal education about the Houses and the history of Westeros with the maester, correct, uncle?" Daemon left the question in the air, but did not wait for Lord Stark to answer.
"And so, I began to learn many things. I had to adapt... When I realized I would no longer have lessons with my brothers, I went to the library, trying to study on my own to keep up with what they were learning. I didn't want to fall behind." Daemon cast a look at his cousins, as if asking whether they rembered this.
Robb furrowed his brow — he knew — while Bran and Rickon seed confused, not knowing whether it was true or not. Arya, on the other hand, lost the spark in her eyes — her face fell, darkened, upon hearing what Daemon had just said.
Lord Stark remained silent, ignoring the questioning looks that fell upon him. He simply stayed firm, waiting for Daemon to continue.
"Soon, I was doing more servant chores than actually studying or training. I thought that at least the sword training in the mornings would be maintained — I was good at that ti and had talent, more than your eldest son, which leads to wonder if your wife was so jealous of , wielding a sword better than Robb, no offense." Jon said, directing the last part at Robb, which was simply common sense, since Jon had always been much better than his cousin.
"But I was mistaken, when you also began to reduce my training ti, changing it to every other day, justifying that I needed to help more around the castle. That I should be useful..."
"I noticed the disparity. Your children — at least Sansa and Robb — had been raised to avoid and offend , always reminding of my status as a bastard, or even saying that I was a threat to them." Daemon's gaze hardened. "A six-year-old child hearing such things. I wonder: did that co from you or from your wife? Most likely from both." Daemon said, and fell silent.
This ti, he waited for an answer.
"You are right... I believe both my wife and I were at fault in this," Ned admitted openly. And the people around looked surprised — for many there, it was as if they could hardly believe what they had just heard.
"Before continuing, let say a little more about what I saw in Winterfell. Besides you and your wife trying to make a bit more foolish than my brothers, limiting my knowledge and trying to destroy my talent with a blade… There were other ways in which I tried on my own, and I'm sure you allowed to go to the library only because you probably had no way to prevent from learning more through books. But I do know your wife even tried to lock the library away from ."
"I learned more about the history of the Seven Kingdoms studying by myself than I ever learned from Maester Luwin. Strange, isn't it?" Daemon left the question in the air. After all, he only saw the maester when he was injured back then.
"I rember that wasn't even the worst part. There was mistreatnt, wasn't there? Anything that happened, the bastard was the one to bla. I rember your wife, when I was five years old. She hit with a wooden spoon for saying I stole cake from the kitchen, when it had actually been your daughter, Sansa, along with her friends, who did it. And even if they had been the ones at fault, I doubt they would have received the sa treatnt as I did. I doubt Lady Stark would have taken the wooden spoon and struck their palms multiple tis until they were red, with tears running down my face when I was just 6 nadays old."
The hall beca even more stunned upon hearing the tales of Daemon's childhood.
"But what is a red hand compared to the days when I couldn't eat anything? Because your wife liked to put too much salt in my food, so I couldn't eat it, and she wouldn't let complain. Since all the servants were at her command not to give anything if I didn't eat that food. Few souls in the castle were brave enough to feed in secret, disobeying their lady, just to give sothing to a starving child so I wouldn't die — all of this being the result of the hatred and jealousy of a woman over her husband's choice… or at least that was the idea, since I was never your son to begin with. And that sa man knew everything that was happening to … he simply shut his eyes, and I always had the impression that he wanted to smile each ti I had to crawl."
Daemon looked dangerously at Lord Stark, old bitter mories being touched at that mont. His eyes emitted a shine that made everyone there feel their skin crawl.
"I also rember the cold nights. I had the worst room in Winterfell; the wood I received to keep warm during the coldest nights was of terrible quality, the leftovers of the leftovers, not to ntion that my room was the farthest from the hot springs... If I tried to take anything better, I was accused and punished. I had to fend for myself."
"Even having the status of a bastard and the 'privilege' of living in the castle, when I was a child, that sounds very good at first. But here in Winterfell, I went hungry, I froze, and I served the castle like the lowest of servants. That Greyjoy was treated much better than I was when he arrived, yet Lord Stark didn't rember that his father led rapists of many Northern won... And all of this happened while the people around , my own blood, the people who should have fulfilled a vow to my mother, took pleasure in watching suffer."
Daemon finished his short speech, while no one breathed; they listened more and more to his past, with everyone's eyes drilling into Lord Stark from all sides.
Even his children were no exception — they seed to search for any denial from Lord Stark. Jon stared at Robb, who felt Daemon's gaze and lowered his head in sha this ti. He had been eight nadays old when Daemon left; of course he rembered the remnants of the treatnt Daemon received within Winterfell's walls.
Robb himself used to openly call Daemon a bastard, using that stigma just as his mother had instilled in him. Every cruelty Daemon received, Robb received encouragent from her to continue that horrible behavior toward his 'brother'; she always said he would "take a place," that he was a threat — that he was the one who should be... the excluded one.
The other children had different reactions. Arya seed agonized, looking at her father; Bran and Rickon seed to search for any denial of the accusations still. The man who had always been loving and helpful to them — who searched for his lost brother over the years — seed, to so, to be incapable of such cruelty alongside his wife toward a child, even a bastard.
The Northern lords continued to stare at Ned. Everything now depended on the answer he would give. This was a cri — truly terrible — to treat a child like that, especially when that child grows and becos a king.
One might think he did this expecting that Daemon would never be able to claim anything because of his more Stark-like appearance and lack of knowledge about his origins. Perhaps no one imagined the Iron Throne could ever be his. But when you are the victim of all of this, you never forget what your uncle did — no boy would forget such treatnt.
All that could remain for any child raised like Daemon was contempt for his family and a man thirsty for vengeance. No one could be very surprised if, after living through such things, Daemon wished to destroy the Stark family.
The sa thing everyone there shared were thoughts about Lady Catelyn. Even knowing she was from the South, they had never imagined she would be so cruel to a child, bastard or not. Bastards in the North were not treated like bastards in the South. And even so, they should not have been surprised by Lady Catelyn's mistakes during the war. She was a lady of the South through and through; even after spending years in the North, she would never be a Northerner, no matter how much they claid otherwise.
"Is that true?" Maege interrupted, breaking the silence. "Is it true that you treated her son that way?" she asked, making a grimace.
Lord Stark only sighed and closed his eyes. He knew that my sister was watching him from sowhere. He would never speak such a lie — not there — as he had to pay for his sins.
"It is true," he said in a low tone. "Everything Daemon has reported happened." He declared to everyone.
The hall erupted in murmurs the next mont. Although the free folk still did not fully understand — there were people like that in the North beyond the Wall, yes, but usually people were killed imdiately when they committed serious cris; they simply did not understand the concept of a trial — Daemon could not explain any of that to them now. While he turned his gaze back to Ned Stark, he stated:
"Great. Now then, do the favor of explaining exactly what happened back then. I want to hear it in your own words. I want you to speak to all of the North and be honest. Admit that you treated like filth." Daemon's voice almost turned into a winter storm inside that hall, while the room seed to grow colder.
Lord Stark nodded, took a step forward, and began to recount things in a low voice. "It is true. I accepted my sister's last request and promised I would take care of her son, but I was not honorable in doing so..."
"When I looked at the boy, I saw my sister. After two days, as we traveled to King's Landing before returning North, it seed I began to see sothing else in him; I also began to rember that my sister had run away with a married Targaryen prince, which condemned my father and my older brother to horrible deaths in the process. Then a rebellion broke out which killed thousands of people — many of you were there at that ti, though fewer than most, but that does not justify it... in the end."
"Even in my anger, I know now that I was wrong. I wanted, in so way, to avenge myself against Rhaegar and Lyanna, and the closest I could co to doing that was to hurt their child."
Lord Stark continued speaking about everything he rembered of the mistreatnt he allowed his wife to inflict upon Daemon, and gradually, those who once still supported Lord Stark began to change their expressions. There was disgust in them. Many wondered if this was truly the man they knew — the honorable man — capable of allowing a child to suffer under his own roof.
When he finished, the entire hall was silent.
Daemon felt Daenerys touch his shoulder. He could even see, from the corner of his eye, Barristan Selmy — who had no connection with him beyond Rhaegar — furious. Daemon touched the hand of his future wife and gave her a tight smile. It was decided.
"Given your cris, which you yourself admitted against a royal child, Lord Stark, as your sovereign, I demand your head for your cruelty toward , when I was just a child who could not answer for your resentnt toward my parents. The anger you held for them in the end is sothing far too petty even for you, always wearing the mask of the most honorable man in the Seven Kingdoms," Daemon declared.
The hall lost its breath.
"You said you wouldn't kill him!" Arya shouted imdiately, trying to advance, but Robb held her back. Daemon looked at her and rembered a conversation in the solar, when she requested an audience and begged him to spare her father, saying she knew many of his cris were real, but that Lord Stark had regretted them, while they were still advancing north from White Harbor. She had begged many tis, please.
Daemon had only said he would think about it.
He had given no concrete answer.
Now, in the hall, Ned remained firm, ignoring the murmurs and exclamations around them. He faced Daemon with a resolute posture, even after his sentence of decapitation.
"I want a trial by combat!" Lord Stark then declared. "I want the gods to decide my fate."
Even after admitting his wrongs, everyone looked at one another upon hearing this, incredulous, wondering if he would truly make such a request after having confessed his guilt.
Daemon only opened a smile.
"I accept."
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