With that, Ned's anger evaporates as quickly as it flared up, leaving him feeling horrible. Horrible for Galen, horrible for himself, horrible that he's let the fuckers who orchestrated all this turn them against each other, just like he'd predicted they were trying to do. Galen had been so cool with him the other day, when he'd blundered in covered in blood and talking about having killed someone.

And what had Galen done, in the end? Not killed anyone. He'd just looked in on his bad dreams - bad dreams Ned might have had anyway. What right does he have to get on his high horse?

Ned hangs his head, ashamed of himself. He covers his mouth with his hand, shoulders slumping in defeat and weariness.

"I know it wasn't your fault," he concedes quietly. He wants to say he forgives Galen, but the words won't come. They get stuck in his throat amidst the accusations he didn't voice, amidst the questions that are clamoring to be asked.

"Sit down, please," he requests, running a hand through his hair. He can't stand that tentative, guilty way Galen is standing there, like he's on trial, "I'm not mad, I just-" But then he can't go on. There is one question that is too insistent, too essential. He continue without knowing where they stand.

"I have to know," he asks urgently, "I'm sorry, I can't- I have to know, first. C-can you..." his voice breaks and he pauses, exhales shakily. "Can you remember my dream?"

There were things in that dream that he didn't want Galen to know about himself. That he didn't want anyone to know. He can't even begin to think about repairing this until he knows how much of his private information has been compromised.