Ned follows the invisible trail of the man's gaze; interesting that he should check for others, though not entirely unsurprising. In a universal sign of surrender, he holds both hands up, palms facing the stranger.
"You may search the area if you wish, but I can assure you I am alone and without weapon." Ned has, on more than one occasion, wished for the familiar comfort of Ice at his side, the steady weight of it like an anchor to the earth whenever he felt himself drifting elsewhere. He slowly lowers his hands back down to his sides, letting them hang loosely to also show he is not itching to grab at something concealed or hidden. "Yes, it is; I am afraid that, after having been here some time, I still do not entirely understand the mechanics of it, but it is how we all arrive. We have whatever memory still lingers in our minds from the world before but the next that follows is opening our eyes to the water that fills the fountain." He always wishes he had a better explanation for it than that, but he cannot offer what he does not have, no matter how much he may wish for it.
"You are in a village, though .. its exact location also remains a mystery. It pulls people from many different worlds and seems fit to bring them all here. I am Eddard Stark of Winterfell - a stead to the north of a land called Westeros. Many here are from a place called Earth, however. New York City, I believe, is one of the places on Earth, as is Greece." When he'd first arrived, he'd heard the accents similar to the one this stranger dons and mistakenly thought the speakers to be Southron folk. He's since learnt that there was a place called England in which people spoke similarly to how they did in Westeros. "Are you from England? There is at least one other who is also from there."
no subject
"You may search the area if you wish, but I can assure you I am alone and without weapon." Ned has, on more than one occasion, wished for the familiar comfort of Ice at his side, the steady weight of it like an anchor to the earth whenever he felt himself drifting elsewhere. He slowly lowers his hands back down to his sides, letting them hang loosely to also show he is not itching to grab at something concealed or hidden. "Yes, it is; I am afraid that, after having been here some time, I still do not entirely understand the mechanics of it, but it is how we all arrive. We have whatever memory still lingers in our minds from the world before but the next that follows is opening our eyes to the water that fills the fountain." He always wishes he had a better explanation for it than that, but he cannot offer what he does not have, no matter how much he may wish for it.
"You are in a village, though .. its exact location also remains a mystery. It pulls people from many different worlds and seems fit to bring them all here. I am Eddard Stark of Winterfell - a stead to the north of a land called Westeros. Many here are from a place called Earth, however. New York City, I believe, is one of the places on Earth, as is Greece." When he'd first arrived, he'd heard the accents similar to the one this stranger dons and mistakenly thought the speakers to be Southron folk. He's since learnt that there was a place called England in which people spoke similarly to how they did in Westeros. "Are you from England? There is at least one other who is also from there."