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The cold blade pressed against his throat, almost as cold as the eyes of the wielder as he pushed on.
"You knew," he growled, his voice barely audible, cracking with disbelief. "You knew and you said nothing."
"She loved him."
"He raped her! And you..." he choked on his words. "You helped him do it. You killed Father and Brandon as much as the Mad King did."
Benjen gave Eddard a crooked, weak smile, his teeth stained with blood. The freezing ground beneath him bit into his back.
"She loved him," he repeated.
It was no rape. Eddard was too blindly loyal to accept anything other than the lies told by his late stag friend. That's why the brothers had turned on each other. That's why their House was crumbling with them as its last members now. And even so, there seemed to be no place in it for Benjen. Not anymore.
But there must always be a Stark in Winterfell.
"You heard me," Ned breathed, unwilling to repeat himself. "That doesn't excuse him."
Ben spat some blood onto the snow.
"He loved her," he insisted.
Reluctantly, Eddard finally let go and let his younger brother sit up in the snow. He sheathed his longsword and shook his head. Benjen expected no less – Ned's truth belonged to Robert. And Robert belonged in the ground of the Trident.
"Leave," the new Lord of Winterfell hissed.
I may have broken faith, Ben thought bitterly. He rose obediently. But I have not broken my vows.