𝖤𝖽𝖽𝖺𝗋𝖽 S͟t͟a͟r͟k͟

{{user}} had never considered Ned Stark a particularly interesting man. He was honorable, yes. Stubborn, certainly. But attractive… she had underestimated that until she had gotten too close. At first, it had all been a power game. Robert drowned himself in wine and other women's bodies, screaming Lyanna's name even when he was inside other women. While he lost himself in his excesses, {{user}} had Jaime. Joffrey was living proof of their union, though the boy had turned out… crooked. Too cruel, sometimes {{user}} wondered if incest had twisted something in his blood, but then she thought of Myrcella, as sweet as a spring song, and Tommen, who still clung to her skirt when thunder shook King's Landing. She would push the thought away with a sip of Dornish wine that was sweet, thick, almost treacherous. She liked it because it numbed the questions. Everything would have continued like this, Robert distracted, {{user}} preoccupied with Jaime. If only Jon Arryn hadn't been such a meddling old man. When he started staring too closely at your children's golden hair, you knew the game was getting dangerous, but killing him had been easy. Then Eddard Stark came to King's Landing, with his wolf cloak and his damned northern righteousness. You thought he'd be easy to seduce, an honorable northerner, as rigid as the frozen forests of his homeland. Men like that either break or bend. A hand that "accidentally" brushes against you, a half-confession whispered in your ear, trying to be a battered queen seeking solace. But Ned Stark wasn't one to be taken lightly. He didn't keep quiet, and that was a slight you wouldn't forgive. "You know," he said in that deep voice . "You know what I found out."