What If Ned Stark Demanded Trial by Combat? | Game of Thrones

#gameofthronestheories #whatif #robbstark #CatelynStark #nedstark #tywinlannister #cerseilannister #jaimelannister #westeroshistory #alternatehistory #theory #explained #houselannister #housestark #VisionsOfValyria #ironthrone #nedstark Valar Morghulis What If Ned Stark Demanded Trial by Combat? Let’s explore the possibilities that might have been. Torchlit passages beneath the Red Keep stretched on, damp with the city’s heat. Ned Stark trudged between two gold-cloaked guards. His hands were shackled in front of him, each iron link cold against his wrists. Yet the chill in his gut came from a deeper place—fear for his children, far more than for himself. He thought of Sansa and Arya, parted from him in this den of vipers. Overhead, in the predawn quiet, the realm slept—or tried to. Ned heard only the echo of boots along wet stone and the muffled drip of distant water. The jailer shoved him forward, muttering. Jailer (to Ned): “Keep moving, my lord. The king awaits.” A silent nod was all Ned gave. He was exhausted—body bruised from earlier interrogations, soul weighed down by Robert’s death, his own regrets, and the uncertain fates of his daughters. This is all wrong, Ned thought for the thousandth time. Robert should be on the throne, or if not Robert, then Stannis, by law and blood. Instead, Joffrey Baratheon—no, Joffrey Lannister—sat on the Iron Throne, a boy-king with cruelty in his veins. Jailer (muttering): “If I had a dragon for every lord who claimed innocence, I’d buy my own kingdom.” At last, the corridor emptied into a cavernous hall. The Red Keep’s throne room loomed, columns stark against torchlight. Above them, the spiked seat of melted swords twisted into the shape of the Iron Throne itself. And upon it, Joffrey perched like a predator. Cersei Lannister reclined in a smaller seat to one side, her emerald eyes reflecting the flames. Around them, courtiers whispered in hushed excitement. A hush spread as Ned was presented. Queensguard knights ringed the dais, their white cloaks as stiff as starched linen. Varys, stood near Lord Petyr Baelish, who wore a mockingly pleasant smile. Grand Maester Pycelle hovered with watery eyes, adjusting his heavy chain. On the floor near the dais, Sansa Stark—stood trembling. Joffrey Baratheon (smiling cruelly): “Lord Stark, you have been brought forth to answer for your treason. Bow to your king.” Ned Stark did not bow. His knees ached, but he would not bend them here. His voice came low. Ned Stark: “I see no king before me but a boy in a stolen crown.” Gasps rippled through the hall. Cersei’s face hardened, yet triumph shone in her eyes. She wanted Ned to slip up. Cersei Lannister: “Watch your tongue, Stark, or it may cost you more than your head. You have endangered my son’s rightful throne and conspired to unseat him.” Ned’s thoughts flicked to Sansa. He could see her lips parted in fear. Whatever I do, I must keep her safe. Ned Stark: “I made no conspiracy, my queen. I did my duty as the Hand—” Joffrey Baratheon: “Silence!” The king’s shrill cry echoed. From the corner of his eye, Ned spotted Ser Barristan Selmy standing at attention. The old knight had recently been dismissed from the Kingsguard in a humiliating fashion to appoint Jamie. And near Ser Barristan, the monstrous Gregor Clegane who should have been in Riverlands doing Tywin’s dirty work, loomed, half in shadow, as though waiting for an order to kill. Joffrey Baratheon: “Confess your treason and beg for mercy, or I shall have your daughter’s head!” A painful knot formed in Ned’s chest. Sansa let out a soft whimper. He struggled for words… then recalled the ancient right. The gods were just, in theory, if not men. Ned Stark (hoarsely): “Then I demand trial by combat. By the old gods and the new, I will place my fate in the hands of a champion. The gods must decide if I am guilty or innocent.” At once, the court erupted in shocked murmurs. Cersei’s lips parted; Joffrey glared. The right to a trial by combat could not be easily denied—particularly not in a place like King’s Landing, where Aegon the Conqueror’s laws yet endured. Cersei Lannister (with thinly veiled scorn): “Who will champion you, Lord Stark? All your bannermen are leagues away. Do you imagine you can face Gregor Clegane yourself in your condition?” Ned wanted to point out that he was not so feeble, that he had once been Robert’s comrade in arms, that he had faced men on the Trident and survived. But battered as he was, he stood little chance against the Mountain. Before he could answer, a voice rang out: Ser Barristan Selmy: “I shall stand for Lord Eddard Stark. For the realm—and for justice.” A stunned silence fell, thick as a cloak over the room. Barristan the Bold, once Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, stripped of his white cloak by Joffrey’s whim, stepped forth. His battered plate glinted dully. No House insignia pinned his cloak now, but his reputation needed no sigil. Joffrey Baratheon: “You dare to stand