[we're quiet on the ride, we're all just waiting to get home]

[learned_to_die]

WHO: Ned Stark
WHERE: Around the village
WHEN: Mid-February
OPEN TO: OTA!
WARNINGS: N/A; will update as needed.

---

The Setup
It was the blaze of red that had caught Ned's eye, carefully perched like a patch of newly spilled blood on the windowsill of his chambers. He'd thought himself mad, seeing visions of death in the blossoming sunlight of dawn, but upon closer inspection, the realization and understanding had cracked over his skull like an egg. He'd seen these envelopes before, twice - first with Moana, as she tried to rid herself of the letter by one of the trees on the outskirts of the village, and then with Beverly, as she sat, brows furrowed and concerned, by the crackling hearth in the inn.

Each letter demanded something of its recipient, the thing itself unable to be destroyed or ignored. He'd run his finger across the wax insignia. It had reminded him of the flaming tree of House Marbrand, but he knew this was no raven-sent message of home. This was sent from their captors, the Observers. The controllers who went unseen and unheard, known only through their manipulations of the villagers' lives. It had unsettled Ned down to his core, rattling his molars and vibrating his bones with a sense of dread he couldn't quite understand.

But now, it seems, his turn has come.

He takes hold of the sealed envelope, turning it over carefully in his hands a few times before finally slipping a finger underneath the flap to open it. With trembling fingers, he removes the letter - eyes skimming over letters without truly understanding, needing to go back and re-read to fully absorb the demand being made like a blade at his throat.

A sacrifice. The price to return home. The word itself, "home," screams out at him from the page, practically rendering him blind and deaf. But - what waits for him back in Westeros? Would he be returning to his last known breath? He'd rather not experience the horrors at the Sept of Baelor, listening to the jeers of the crowd with a thirst for blood and a call for his head. Hearing his daughter's pleading, frantically searching for his other daughter's face in the sea of sneers and flustered, angered faces. But if he could return to a time before that? Back to when life had been simpler, back to when he'd had his beloved Catelyn at his side, when they'd watched their children train in the yard and their worries seemed few and far between? How sweet a thought; it almost makes his chest ache with want.

The Stark House
He removes his fur-lined cloak from his wardrobe, folding the letter up and keeping it close to his chest underneath his other wintry Westerosi garments. As he makes his way through the house - getting himself something to sup on for breakfast, stoking the hearth, ensuring they've enough to eat, going about his morning routine - he seems to be preoccupied. His mind is elsewhere, brows stitched together with concern, worry, and silent dispute. He might even be grumbling to himself about this thing or that, not making much sense of whatever can be heard.

Outdoors - Anywhere around the village
Once he's finished there, he makes his way into the village, taking time to enjoy the silent solitude that these early morning walks provide him. Margaery had started the pattern shortly after he had first arrived, and he finds that he cannot seem to truly start his day without them now - though her company is more and more scarce as time goes on. (Deep down, this pains him as he'd come to enjoy her friendship, but he will never admit such a thing).

Still, he seems distracted, absent-minded. He goes about the motions as he heads towards the center of town, eventually heading north to check traps and investigate the riverbed, but it's clear his eyes are not truly seeing what lies around him. They're envisioning other worlds, other possibilities. He stops a few times at seemingly sporadic moments and locations, completely lost in thought, only to come to after a few moments, after which he continues on his way.

The Inn
Finally, as he does most days, he finds himself wandering back towards the warmth of the inn, sitting opposite the raging fire. He cradles a mug of something in his hands, though he's barely touched its contents. Instead, he idly spins the mug in between his palms and fingers, both restless with unused energy and worry.

It's only here, when his guard is down, that he reveals the envelope, clutching it in one hand, as he fights the call of home as best as he can.

Comments

The woods

[iron_beneath_beauty]

She was perched in the branches of a tree, her preferred place to wait for the rabbits and stags to emerge from the brush. From here, she could have a clear view and a place to rest, letting her enjoy the solitude. Though without the leaves, it was easier to spy her. Her hunting clothes not fitting well against the snow backdrop.

She saw her brother a distance away, checking his traps and soaking in the quiet of the forest. While he was usually morose, there was something weighing him down. The lines in his face more evident, weary and drawn. "Ned!" She called out, hearing something scamper away, skittering over the dried branches. So much for hunting.

"Did you catch anything?"

[learned_to_die]

Ned glances up from his trap at the call of his name, recognizing his sister's voice in an instant. There's a strange, surreal feeling that overtakes him. He remembers hearing Bran's voice outside of the Tower, though he could not yet have known it would be his son's voice, as he was not yet a father. He remembers hearing Lyanna shout for him when they were young, running through the grounds, often with Ned trying to keep his troublesome sister out of too much mischief. There is a chill that runs down his spine, made worse by the contents of the letter he'd received that morning.

He stands, dusting his hands off on his clothes, before sweeping the forest with his gaze to try and locate her. He doesn't see her, but then thinks that this is Lyanna; it's doubtful she's got her feet on the ground. He raises his eyes and begins to search the canopies, landing on her a few seconds later. With a quiet laugh, he approaches the tree, glancing up at her from below.

"Game is hard to come by these days. The weather drives them underground." A pause. "Attempting to blend in with the birds, are we? I'm afraid you're doing a terrible job of it, if you are."

[iron_beneath_beauty]

Ned had always been grim, even as a boy, but it is more personified now, apparent from a distance. There was a brief interlude before his eyes trailed up towards the trees, finding her among the branches. It granted her a moment to observe him, allowing her to witness the shadow that seemed to pass over his face. He was thinking of darker memories, most likely involving her. She seemed to be the piece that connected all of his trauma and misfortunes together. It all began with her.

But as he met her eyes, a glimmer of his old self seemed to return, even if it was covering something else. Carefully, she climbed down from the tree. There were patches of ice, but easy to avoid if she went a bit slow. When she was finally on the ground, she hurried over to him, her dress growing damp from the snow drifts.

"It gives me a good view of the grounds. What's wrong?" She would get directly to the point, knowing that he wasn't at his best. Something was weighing him down. He didn't need to say it, she could simply see it in him.

LYANNA NO YOU ARE A SHINING LIGHT IN NED'S LIFE

[learned_to_die]

Ned reaches out to try and aid her descent, but he finds, without much surprise, that she doesn't need it. He wonders at her abilities, thinking of how often Catelyn had to scold Bran for climbing walls to heights more impressive than the Weirwoods. He'd always wondered where he'd gotten the urge and skill, and it seems he's received his answer. There's a warmth in him at the thought of how much of his sister truly lingers within the rest of his family, how she's always been with him, even if not in body but in spirit and inheritance.

"What makes you think something's wrong?" he asks, attempting to seem at least a bit innocent. He knows there's no point, of course; if anyone could see through whatever disguise he might attempt to wear, it'd be his sister. With a resigned sigh, he opts for honesty. "Have you seen the red envelopes that some of the villagers have received in the past? They're from the observers, the captors who brought and keep us here, and the letters always make a request of some kind with the promise of returning home for a short time."

The inn

[dann_0]

Danny sees him sitting there with a mug and what looks like one of the envelopes in his hands. He decides not to say something when he makes his way over but instead he makes sure to make a little noise so the guy won't feel like Danny is sneaking up on him.

"Mind if I sit? The fire is a comfort on days like this."

[learned_to_die]

The voice draws Ned out of his daze, barely at first until he blinks himself back into consciousness. It takes a few seconds for him to catch up with the world around him, but once he does, he gestures towards the empty chair, still holding the envelope, a pleasant expression across his face.

"Please, it is just as much your right as it is mine," he says, suddenly aware of the mug in his other hand again. He lifts it to his mouth to take a sip, slipping the envelope in between his leg and the side of the chair. "I don't believe we've met before. I'm Eddard Stark, though Ned will do just fine." He extends his now-free hand towards the man, having properly learnt what a "handshake" is.

[dann_0]

Danny grins as he moves over to sit in the chair. That was just the response he had hoped for and he is happy he got it, Ned looks like someone who needs a chat and a distraction and Danny likes knowing who lives here.

"Danny Williams" he takes the hand with a firm handshake and a broad smile. "Danny works." He sinks into the chair with a sigh. He might not have a desk job but even so, there is a lot more being on his feet and moving around here than he is used to from Hawaii.

"I don't think we have. I came here back in one of the big snowstorms and been trying to stay indoors since. I've gone soft living in Hawaii for five years."

[learned_to_die]

"A pleasure, Danny," Ned replies, matching the man's firmness in his handshake. Westeros custom would have Ned gripping Danny's forearm near his elbow, but given how few are familiar with such a practice here, Ned has adapted to the more common handshake instead. It still feels awkward, though.

"Hawaii?" Ned glances to the stranger, a slight, curious tilt to his head. "I've not heard of such a place, but I assume that it's of a warmer climate? I, on the other hand, have relished the winter we've had here, snowfall included. It best matches that of my ancestral home."

Village Outskirts

[pretendtoneedme]

"Looking for something? You've been here long enough that I thought you'd know where everything is by now."

One of Ned's stops in his meanderings is interrupted by a voice from behind him, one he'd know, sounding perhaps a little worn out but nowhere near the worst he's ever heard it. Clint is coming up behind him, bow slung over his shoulder like it is most days, and he's dragging something behind him - a travois rigged up out of branches and some bits of paracord that he carries around with him for this purpose, on which looks to be the carcass of a deer, already gutted but not skinned. He's been hunting, obviously, but he's had better luck today than he has in most recent days what with it being the end of winter and game being scarcer.

"Something on your mind?" he asks as he pulls up next to the other man, looking at him from the corner of his eye.

[learned_to_die]

"Hmm?" Ned asks, not having completely heard the question. Too caught up in his thoughts, too distracted by the inner turmoil of whether to fulfill the demands set upon him by the Observers at the prospect of returning home, too torn by the option. He almost forgets that Clint is there until he sort of comes back to himself, eyes flicking over the man's face, the cord, the deer he drags behind him.

How easy it would be, if he could do such a thing and have it fulfill the letter's calling. But commonly found game won't qualify, the letter says. His usual fare of rabbits and hares and squirrels won't suffice.

"Oh, I -" Ned begins, looking back to Clint's face with a faintly apologetic look on his own. He rummages for the envelope in the folds of his clothing before holding it out to the other man. No reason to hide; he knows this isn't the first time they've sent these letters.

[pretendtoneedme]

Not anywhere near the first; Clint still remembers all too well Beverly receiving one of those from the first lot and her refusal to do it. He'd offered to steal for her, but in the end they'd figured that if he did it, even in her name, it wouldn't count since the letter wasn't addressed to him. He'd also volunteered to be a punching bag for anyone who'd gotten one of the "cause pain" versions, he'd been taken up on that offer, and that'd seemed to work but not to the extent that anyone was counting on. And this latest round is the worst yet.

Letting go of the travois with one hand, he takes Ned's letter and manages to wrangle the paper from the envelope without wrinkling either. The contents are familiar, since this isn't the first time this kind of ...objective has been declared, and Clint's lips are pressed with dissatisfaction as he hands it back to Ned. "I'm gonna keep back from volunteering for this one, sorry." The slash Finnick had put across his ribs has long since healed, but there's a huge difference between slash and sacrifice. "What are you gonna do?"

[learned_to_die]

Ned watches him unseal the letter, perhaps somewhat grateful that his reaction to its contents match his own. There's a slight glitter of worry in Ned's eyes, however, as he's never received a message from their captors. He's met others who have, both requesting a purloined item, but he'd never thought himself to be a recipient. He can understand now why they'd been so unnerved and uneasy, even if the request had been tamer than the one he takes back from Clint.

He glances down to the blood-red of the envelope, turning it over in his hands. Strange, to see his name so perfectly written on its front, to see a near-perfect circle of wax on the back, blemished only by the flame insignia. Fire can be life-saving, healing - but it can also destroy without consideration. He has a feeling he knows which side the captors lean towards.

"I'd not ask such a thing of you," Ned says, slightly incredulous, raising his eyes to meet Clint's face. At his question, however, he looks back to the envelope. "I've not yet decided. I am not .. willing to do what it asks of me. I couldn't imagine taking the life of another villager for the possibility of me returning home, nor am I certain that I'd even .. have a home or a life to return to in the first place." He looks to Clint, somewhat sheepish. "I'd met death before I arrived here." He shakes his head with a laborious rise and fall of his shoulders. "It seems I've no choice but to ignore it, no matter how great the temptation."

Stark house

[king_in_the_north]

Despite the unspoken agreement amongst the entire family to never mention where Robb spent most of his nights, he always felt awkward when he returned home in the morning and found one of them already awake and about their business. He hesitated now on the threshold of the kitchen door, hand on the knob, feeling caught out.

"Good morning," he greeted with a perfect politeness that couldn't quite mask the stiffness of his shoulders as he finished stomping the snow from his boots and then stepped fully inside. Next time, he ought to carry in an armload of firewood. Not that anyone would truly be fooled, but at least it would seem like he'd made an effort.

[learned_to_die]

"Good morning," Ned replies, a vague hint of the same politeness and stiffness Robb is exuding. He's never once brought up the absent nights or the early morning returns, knowing full well that it's not his business to begin lecturing him or investigating his son's whereabouts, but it's not as though he hasn't noticed. Given that, unless ill or similar, Ned is often up at first light, he's become accustomed to the sounds of Robb's quiet rummaging through the house.

Out of all of the things to occupy Ned's mind this particular morning, his son's indiscretions is low on the list - and it shows in the way Ned doesn't really meet Robb's eyes, nor does it seem certain whether or not he's even aware of his presence in the kitchen. It feels more like he's returned the greeting out of habit and out of mimicry than anything else.

[king_in_the_north]

All things considered, this was the preferred reaction from his father, but it was also a bit odd. Robb hadn't expected a chastisement — They were well past that now — but he had thought to be on the receiving end of a subtle yet knowing arch of one eyebrow or the like. Nothing overtly said and yet the situation acknowledged simply out of Ned's strong sense of paternal duty: We both know you're toeing a precarious line.

"Is everything all right?" Robb asked now as he closed the kitchen door behind him. He'd seen his father in a similar state several times before. Whether out of duty or habit, Ned Stark tended to worry about a good many things, most of them having to do with people in his care: Farmers whose sheep had been slaughtered by a roving pack of wolves, his son's (nephew's) decision to take the black, the threat of an unsteady and easily-influenced king on the whole of the seven kingdoms.

But Robb had hoped most of the heavier cares could be left behind for them both, here.

"You look rather distracted this morning."

[learned_to_die]

Ned looks to Robb with a vague hint of surprise in his eyes, almost as though he's seeing his son for the first time. There is a brief pause, followed by a few rapid blinks, before he turns back towards the counter, hands resting on its surface, index finger idly tapping. His shoulders seem both tense and weighted, a physical manifestation of the burden he's been given with the Observers' letter.

There is no doubt in his mind that he will refuse their demands; he cannot even begin to fathom taking the life of another in an attempt to go home. This is, of course, besides the fact that he doesn't really have a home to go back to in the first place. Could they truly send him back if he'd met his end back in Winterfell? Would he be sent as a spirit, cursed to wander and observe without really setting foot on its soil? Or, and he thinks it to be the most likely, is it all a rouse?

"I received a letter," he finally admits, voice quiet and tired.

Outdoors

[guessihavelostcount]

At one time, Claire would have spent an hour or two in the morning just running around the last village she had been sent to for a long period of time. Not doing errands or anything but jogging as a way to stay in shape even though she hadn't needed it with her ability in play. Here, things are different. She doesn't have her ability anymore but this village isn't as safe as the last one had been even with all the strange things that could happen.

Still, some habits are hard to break and so she still tends to wake up early to take a walk down to the riverbed just to check things out. Sometimes she'll even wander near the edge of the village close to the forest but never beyond when she is on her own. Which is what she is when she makes her way back from the riverbed in time to see a man walking towards her. She recognizes him from around but Claire hasn't been overly social these days.

But she does slow down when she notices his strange behavior, a concerned look crossing her features as she arches a brow at him. "Hey, are you okay?"

[learned_to_die]

Ned doesn't find a reply right away, so caught up in his thoughts and deliberations as he is. But the presence of a vaguely familiar face, as well as the concern in her voice, eventually draws him from the storm cloud overhead. He looks to her with a curious expression, both for having been caught not fully paying attention, as well as for not completely recognizing her. He knows he has seen her about the village, but he's yet to properly meet her.

Still, it's a kindness to be shown concern from a stranger, and he adjusts himself accordingly. He softens his features some, shaking his head with apology.

"Aye, I'm fine, thank you," he insists, though his inflection might not be all that convincing to a trained ear. "I don't believe we've met before. I'm Eddard Stark, but Ned will do."

[guessihavelostcount]

It's a bit concerning when he doesn't respond right away and already she is wondering if maybe she should convince him to get checked out by one of the doctors in the village. She could do it herself if needed too. But she simply waits until he focuses on her before offering a gentler smile than before, hoping it will draw him out of his thoughts further.

Not that she buys his statement that he is fine but she doesn't argue with him right away. Instead, she simply steps closer and offers a hand to him. "No, unfortunately, we haven't. I'm Claire Bennet but you can simply call me Claire. It's nice to meet you. I've seen you around the village but we haven't really had a chance to speak yet."

The Inn

[chosenbytheocean]

Moana had been working to survive the winter as well as set up the inn in the adjacent village. The work distracted her from the cold but some days she found it difficult to wander away from the fire. She missed her island, her village and her ocean and the cold only heightened her sense of loss.

She wandered towards the fireplace, her bare feet whispering across the floor as she spotted Ned sitting in front of the roaring flames. Moana hadn't seen him recently, he didn't come to the Inn very often and she wasn't always here to run into him when he did stop by. This was a meeting of chance and one that Moana was grateful for. She liked talking to Ned though it looked as if something was on his mind. His brow was furrowed thoughtfully while his eyes were lost in the hypnotic movements of the dancing flames.

As she stepped closer her eyes dropped to the envelop in Ned's hand. "Ned? Is that like the one I got?" They looked similar but Moana had been told that the messages inside the envelops had been changing. What was Ned asked to do?

[learned_to_die]

Ned hasn't been mindfully in the Inn since he'd sat down. In fact, it's felt as though he hasn't been in his own body for much of the day, ever since he'd first laid eyes on the red of the envelope. He'd thought of Moana when he'd seen it, remembering the one she'd been trying to bury and get rid of in the woods. He remembers how she'd tried to find a loophole to get around having to steal anything important from another villager, how admirable and kind he'd thought it was for her to do so. He had wondered then whether he might not be next in this ridiculous correspondence from their unseen captors, and for a time, it seemed his wondering had been for naught - though, of course, his luck had ended only hours earlier.

He doesn't hear her approach, partially because of her being barefoot but also due to his being wrapped up in his thoughts. When he comes to and looks at her, his expression softens some. He's become quite fond of her, thinking of her as something of a daughter. His instinct is to keep the burden to himself, just as he would for his own children, but things are different here. Perhaps she might have some insight as to how to handle this.

He nods to her, holding the envelope out to her for her to take and read its contents. The request is far too grisly for him to want to repeat aloud.

[chosenbytheocean]

Moana silently took the envelope from Ned, pulling the letter from it's folds and reading it to herself. She read it through once and then a second time. The words were clear, however Moana had trouble believing their orientation. Their captors wouldn't let them go so easily, it was a test, always another test.

This was Ned's letter, which meant that it'd be his choice and only his. For Moana, the choice was easy, it only mattered if they all got home but she knew how tantalizing the idea of home was.

She folded the letter back up and slipped it carefully into the envelope before holding it out to Ned to take. "I don't believe that you'll do what this letter says." Her voice was steady and confident. "But you're worried." Which was understandable but there were hundreds of reasons that Ned might find this troubling and Moana couldn't guess which was on his mind. "Why?"

outdoors

[ethnobotany]

It's one of those moments of sporadic inattentiveness that Beverly happens upon him. She recognizes him instantly, from all of their moments of talking previously, and even if she hadn't noticed that he appears lost in thought, she would likely approach based on past interactions. As it is, she thinks something might be on his mind and given that they've gotten along well enough already, she'd like to at least see how he's doing.

So she approaches easily enough, just as he seems to snap back to himself, and once she's close enough, she offers a smile in greeting.

"Hi. Haven't seen you in a while," she says lightly. "Everything okay?"

[learned_to_die]

"Beverly, hello," Ned replies, though there's an absentmindedness to his tone and expression that hint at his not being entirely present, at least mentally. Still, he makes a good show of it, meeting her gaze and offering a smile. After a few seconds, it's as though he's truly seeing her for the first time, almost a bit surprised that she's standing there. "Beverly," he repeats, shaking his head apologetically.

Wordlessly, he removes and reveals his envelope, though he makes a point not to wave it around.

"Their requests grow bolder and more blood-thirsty."

[ethnobotany]

Beverly gives him a moment or two to come back to himself, letting him work through whatever it is that is on his mind. When he finally shows her the letter, she glances at it with a furrowed brow, thinking about Peggy's.

"Does it require some kind of sacrifice?" she asks carefully, wondering if this is perhaps something similar and also whether or not he'll go through with it.