I would gladly go with her, Lord Eddard, Septa Mordane offered. "There would be no question of her missing the ship."
It would not be wise for you to go to Joffrey right now, Sansa. I'm sorry.
Sansa's eyes filled with tears. "But why?"
Sansa, your lord father knows best, Septa Mordane said. "You are not to question his decisions."
It's not fair! Sansa pushed back from her table, knocked over her chair, and ran weeping from the solar.
Septa Mordane rose, but Ned gestured her back to her seat. "Let her go, Septa. I will try to make her understand when we are all safely back in Winterfell." The septa bowed her head and sat down to finish her breakfast.
It was an hour later when Grand Maester Pycelle came to Eddard Stark in his solar. His shoulders slumped, as if the weight of the great maester's chain around his neck had become too great to bear. "My lord," he said, "King Robert is gone. The gods give him rest."
No, Ned answered. "He hated rest. The gods give him love and laughter, and the joy of righteous battle." It was strange how empty he felt. He had been expecting the visit, and yet with those words, something died within him. He would have given all his titles for the freedom to weep ... but he was Robert's Hand, and the hour he dreaded had come.