Last night upon the moor, I heard the jangling of chains and saw the unquiet spirit that they bound, standing proud unbowed by the weight of layered links.
Poor Ned Stark.
There he stood his shorn head tucked in his right arm’s crook. From those grey lips these words issued:
“Learn mortal man from my demise that love shall kill and honour betray. That duty’s show brings no reward and all good deeds are paid with woe.”
“Struck from my neck is proof of this: a lesson learnt but far too late. Far too late for my own gain but not for you who lives on still.”