[no amount of remembering the better things will make the bad ones go away]

[learned_to_die]

WHO: Eddard Stark
WHERE: The Stark Family Cabin
WHEN: August 15 and onward
OPEN TO: OTA; feel free to jump in at any point during his halluciations.
WARNINGS: None; will updated as needed

---

It had started with redness of the skin, first on Ned's hands. It spread like blood-red ink across the paper of his skin, up his arm towards his shoulder, down his back, around his torso. It made decades'-old battles scars scarlet and renewed, the pain of touch excruciating, as though the wounds had only just been made. And then, the heat. At first, he thought it a continued byproduct of the summer temperatures, but it was the absence of perspiration that had drawn his brows together in confusion and realization: he had gotten ill.

Half a fortnight later, having spent the majority of the time bed-ridden and unable to leave the confines of his room, the visions had started.

He’d first seen his siblings’ faces: Brandon, Benjen, Lyanna. He imagined Brandon’s death, simultaneously feeling the constriction of his airways as Brandon tried to rescue their father, and wakes to a coughing fit while gasping for air. Benjen he imagined in black, half-human and half-crow, taking to the skies and soaring back to The Wall. Lyanna, he had seen bloodied and ghostly pale, her trembling hands leaving crimson paintings against his skin with every touch, while the rage and pain and impending loss stormed within him.

Second, Robert’s face - glossy-eyed and slender, the way he’d been when they’d grown alongside each other under the care of Jon Arryn. He imagined them wandering the grounds of the Eyrie, practicing their fighting with one another, Robert daring him to draw closer and closer to the Moon Door. His half of these fabricated conversations are audible to anyone near enough - even through the closed door of his chambers. None of it makes any sense, especially out of context, though it’d be easy enough for someone familiar enough to surmise that Robert was on his mind.

Next, he’d seen visions of Catelyn at their wedding; the hatred and betrayal in her face when he’d revealed to her that he had returned from war with a dark-haired babe in tow, a newly born Robb still in her arms, which she clutched tighter to her breast; the way she’d peer up at him as they lay under their furs and in each other’s arms with only the soft glow of the fire as their audience; when he’d last seen her, outside of Littlefinger’s brothel in King’s Landing, the blue scarf wrapped over her fiery crown. He reaches for her, when he imagines her with him, hands and fingers fumbling in the air for a woman who no longer exists.

Then, he’d seen each of his children at varying stages of their lives, from birth to the last he’d seen of them: Robb at Winterfell, when Ned had left for King’s Landing; Sansa when he’d knelt at the steps of the Great Sept, silently praying for her rescue; Arya when he’d spotted her in the crowd, crouching by Baelor the Blessed, doing the only thing he could to keep her safe by signaling Yoren to take her into his custody; Bran, unconscious in his bed, unsure if he’d ever open his eyes again; Rickon in the yard at Winterfell, too young to understand the weight of the world and his father’s departure beyond a glaring absence; and, though not a child of his own creation, Jon at the crossroads to King’s Landing and The Wall, promising to tell him about his mother upon their next meeting. These memories are strong enough to make a weakened, unwell Ned weep, crying out for the family from which he’d been taken, his feverish mind no longer remembering he has four of them still with him, whether by fate or by the blessings of the Old Gods.

He floats in and out of consciousness, back and forth between the world of Westeros he’d left behind and the world of the village - his second chance - though he cannot seem to convince himself that the latter exists. He wonders if he’s returned to the Children of the Forest, to the Old Gods themselves, to the Weirwood back in the Godswood of Winterfell. All the while, the skin affected by the rash blisters and reddens, leaving smears of blood on the linens underneath - though, if there is one light in the darkness, the intensity of his hallucinations seems to negate the pain from the rash, and he seems blissfully unaware of the sores.

Comments

[thekittenqueen]

The words are tender and she knew they weren't meant for her. While she didn't know that Lady Catelyn was to marry Ned's brother before, she understood that he was hallucinating. What other woman could he speak to this way? Jon's mother, but that didn't seem likely. Instead, she shushed him softly and dabbed the cloth against his brow.

"It's Margaery," she murmured. Carefully, she helped raise him enough that he could drink some water, his lips clearly chapped.

"Rest, my lord. Your fever hasn't broken yet."

[learned_to_die]

"Margaery?" Ned repeats her name thrice more after sipping at the water, as though it is a foreign word he's never felt on his tongue before, sputtering up a bit of the liquid that pooled in his throat incorrectly. It's on the fourth and final repetition that there seems to be some clarity, and his eyes suddenly widen with this realization as he looks upon her face. "You're here." There's a shift in his tone, one that could almost suggest lucidity, despite the flush of his cheeks and the glossy vacancy in his gaze. "You're here," he repeats.

"I am glad it is you at my side," he admits, coughing a few more times into his elbow, before settling back down again. "You lighten my heart, when you are near."

[thekittenqueen]

He was sweet, even in delirium and damp from sweat. She dabbed the bloth on his brow, gently shushing him, encouraging him to save his strength. He pushed himself too hard, both now and during their usual morning routines. Sickness wasn't common in the village, but something had changed now. So long as nothing changed in his condition, she felt certain that he would recover. "I am," she replied gently. "Of course I am." He was as much her family as his children. She would look after him, always.

She stroked his arm as he coughed, trying to soothe him. "I am glad that your mind is eased. It will help you recover." Her smile was sweet. "You should sleep. I will be here with you."

[learned_to_die]

"You have no obligation to stay here," Ned admits, a certain twinge of sorrow in his voice, as though he'd rather not reveal such a thing for fear of her taking advantage of it and vacating the house. "Though I would be a fool to drive you away." A few weaker coughs vibrate his body. He lets out a bit of a groan, his muscles beginning to ache with lack of water and strain. He manages to lift his other hand to place it on hers, trying his hardest to control the weight of it so it doesn't come down with a smack.

"You will be here when I wake?" He cannot spare energy to hide the hope that fills his voice and lights his eyes at the question.

[thekittenqueen]

"Obligation or no, I stay because you are dear to me. I have cherished this friendship and your presence in my life. I do not wish to see it end." Whatever he might fear, she did not move from her place at his side. After two coughs, she gently opened his shirt further, rubbing the salve of lavender and aloe on his chest. The soothing vapor would help him breathe better and calm him, easing his dreams. Once she wiped her hands, she offered him more water, helping him sit up enough to drink it.

"I have known a great many fools, but you are not one of them. Rest, my lord. I will be here when you wake."

i think i figured out the confession haha lmk if okay!

[learned_to_die]

Ned inhales the soothing vapors from a source he cannot locate, having had his eyes closed while she applied the balm. Almost at once, the lavender seems to quell him, if only a little, and his breathing falls into a more normal rhythm. It's still a bit of a strain for him to expand his lungs and inhale deeply, and the blistering rash that litters his body makes excessive movement painful, but for the moment, he is peaceful.

"I cannot bear the thought of not seeing you when I wake," he murmurs, barely audible. "I would consider myself the most fortunate if you were to stay at my side." It isn't entirely clear whether he's talking about Margaery or a hallucinated Cately, at least not at first. After a few moments, he opens his eyes, just enough to see her, and there's a glimmer of recognition in them that makes it clear that it is she he is speaking of. "Though I do not expect you to tie yourself down to an old man like me, not when you are so still so vibrant and full of life."

Looks good!

[thekittenqueen]

She assumed at first that he mistook her for Lady Catelyn again. Tender words given while his fever ran high, it wasn't difficult to imagine that he saw the faces that he longed for and spoke of what was in his heart for them. She simply shushed him and gently dabbed the cloth against his brow again.

It was only when he focused his eyes on her, seeing her clearly that she understood what was being said. Her stomach twisted as a cold chill ran through her. In all of her teasing and flirting, she hadn't considered what the end result would be. It didn't seem likely that an honorable man like Eddard Stark would fall in love with her or forget the family he held close to his heart. Who was she in this? Only the same sort of southron woman he had likely seen before. Hardly rivaling Ashara Dayne or the other great beauties that came before her.

Yet she had miscalculated and because of her games, she could hurt someone that had become family to her. A man that she respected and admired very much. Worse still, there was no saying how Robb, Sansa or Jon might feel about this situation, if they knew of it. Ned Stark was a loyal man and falling in love with a woman other than his wife was unthinkable. She had no desire to shake their pride or image of their father. Some things were better left unsaid.

"You are not old, Ned." She told him gently, folding his hand between hers. "It is never age that draws two people together but the heart. Yours is a good heart and it is full of love and honor, and I am unworthy of it. There is a greater lady that occupies that place in your affections. It wouldn't be right of me to claim you when I know that you love her deeply. She is a good woman."

She placed a kiss to his fingers, a gentle gift from one who treasured their friendship. "There is someone else I love as well."

[learned_to_die]

By the time Margaery begins to reply, Ned has already forgotten the confession that so recently left his lips, and his brows gather with confusion as he attempts to understand what it is she's saying. It takes him a bit longer than it would normally to piece it all together, and if his face weren't already flushed scarlet from the heat of the fever, it would have done so now, from the burst of embarrassment and impropriety bubbling in his chest.

He grumbles something incoherent, though he imagines it to be something clear and dismissive, perhaps something seeking her forgiveness for having spoken so boldly and without forethought. With some effort and a groan, he shifts himself a bit in the bed, settling back down into it with a huff. His grip tightens briefly as he feels her lips pressed to the backs of them, and he meets her gaze for a few silent moments. His eyes are weighted with regret, remorse, and embarrassment.

"Yes. She is a good woman. The only woman I could have ever dreamt of as my wife." Thoughts of Catelyn, especially now in his feverish state, pain him in such a particular and intense way, that he needs to inhale a sudden gust of air in order to subdue it. "I am glad you have found love," he manages to reply, closing his eyes again. "You deserve that and more, and I am sorry for having spoken so out of turn."

[thekittenqueen]

He didn't need to apologize as she wouldn't accept him feeling embarrassing or ashamed. There was nothing to regret in feeling affection or warmth for someone. They had spent enough time together that she could understand where Ned's feelings stemmed from. It was painful to her, however, that she couldn't return those affections, not in the way he might wish.

She shushed him gently, dabbing his brow with the wet cloth, offering him a bit more water to ingest. Her eyes held his, understanding and gentle. "You are fortunate to have married a woman that you can be proud of. She is kind and good in all the ways I wish I could be. She gave you beautiful children that hold all of the good qualities of both of you. Be proud of your life." She would not bring him that same level of satisfaction, for there was little in her that followed his same level of honor. She had her own, but it might be distasteful to him, despite the changes she had made in her life.

"I am happy." She smiled, tempted to share her affections for Robb, but choosing to remain silent for now. It wasn't the time. "You didn't speak out of turn. You spoke your feelings and I don't blame you for that. Don't fret. Rest and gather your strength, my lord. Here, I made broth for you."

[learned_to_die]

Ned doesn't vocalize his agreement, though his silence signifies it all the same. Some lucid part of him knows and understands that Margaery is saving him from further embarrassment, and his affection for her - the platonic variety - loves her for it all the more. She could have stormed out in outrage, or she could have lured him in knowing his feelings and transformed it into a weakness to extract that which she wants. She does neither of those things; instead, she reminds him of his love and vow to Catelyn, she compliments their parentage, she exalts his children.

He stirs at the mention of broth, though he isn't entirely sure that he contains the strength to eat. Still, he'll try - it's the least he could do after her kindness, both with his confession and with his sickness.

"I'm unsure if I will keep it down, but I should try."