sixthiterationlogs | receive the horizon dawn’s golden glow; honor is among us, honor is all we know

Entry tags:

receive the horizon dawn’s golden glow; honor is among us, honor is all we know

WHO: Eddard Stark
WHERE: Fountain/Around the Village
WHEN: March 10, afternoon into early evening
OPEN TO: OTA (Separate thread for Sansa (continuation from TDM))
WARNINGS: Mention of death/execution (will update as needed)
STATUS: Yes

// Arrival - The Fountain //
The last thing Ned could remember was the chilling, screaming sound of approaching death as the executioner used his own weapon against him. After that -

He'd ended up here. Clawed his way out of the fountain, felt the press of hard earth against his back as he stared at a sky bluer than any he'd seen before. He'd thought he'd died, been transported to some sort of afterlife, but it would've been too good to be true. Instead, he'd found himself in a village, of sorts. There were similarities, to his beloved home of Winterfell, but also -

Differences.

His belabored breathing is mottled with violent, hacking coughs - many of which force water up from his lungs to saturate the ground beneath him. He rolls over onto his side, presses a palm to the ground, forces himself up onto his knees. As he brings the back of his hand to his mouth, he feels the strange tug of the fabric around his body -

It isn't the leather he's used to, nor does it even vaguely resemble his usual garments - the ones he'd loved and left behind up North: the furs, the pelts, leather delicately woven and dark as the frozen earth. Even the pieces he'd had to wear in the warmer King's Landing are missing. He then feels the tightness of straps against his shoulders, realizes he's carrying a satchel of some sort on his back. He thinks to remove it, to investigate, but first, he has to figure out how to answer a very pressing question:

Where in the Old Gods' names is he?

// Later - The Village //
He's determined to explore more of the town, now that he's forced himself to scout the area, taking advantage of the cover of a number of trees to finally bend a knee, investigate the contents of the strange satchel he'd arrived with. He'd also taken the opportunity to peel away the saturated clothing for the dry set he'd found - marvelling at how much quicker it was to dress as opposed to before with layer upon layer. Perhaps there's something to the simplicity of it all.

He tries to retrace his steps back towards the fountain or what he believes to be the center of the town, pack lazily slung over one shoulder, long tendrils of hair still dripping and soaking the shoulders of his shirt.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Eddard's brows gather at her apology, a rough hand lifting to cup the side of her face - thumb against the mound of her cheek, fingers lost in the strands of her hair. Her mother's hair. There's a sharp, quick pain at the center of his chest at the thought of Cat, but he swallows it away - forces it back into the depths of his belly, to be dealt with another time. He can mourn her later, when he's alone. His daughter needn't be there to see the fractured, broken man she'd once known as her father - Lord of Winterfell. Another lifetime ago, he thinks. When had they last been together, a family?

His other hand comes up, both thumbs working diligently to swipe away at the tears wetting her skin. He presses his lips to her forehead, closes his eyes, then moves back to look at her again.

"Oh, my dear child," he murmurs quietly. "You did nothing wrong. You hear me?" He ducks his head down to be more at her eye-level - though, he realizes, he doesn't have to lower himself nearly as much as he'd used to. She's grown. "You had to be loyal to the crown. I'm only sorry for having put you in the position in the first place."

It doesn't surprise her when her father tries to comfort her in that moment. He had always been and would be a good father to his children. It was something she had always taken for granted until it was gone but she swears softly that she won't now.

"You didn't put me there." She tells him, leaning back slightly to look at him. Then she shakes her head, pressing her lips together. "I was a stupid child that put myself there without thinking of anything or anyone but myself. I should have seen that they weren't good people. I should have just stayed home in Winterfell."

And here is she is again, thinking only of herself.

Stepping back, she quickly dashes the tears from her cheeks while looking him over. "You must be cold. I need to get you out of here and home..." Home. Suddenly she is looking at him with wide eyes. "Home. Father, I have to get you home. Robb, Arya and Jon, they all are here. I don't know where they are right at this moment but they're here in this village!"

How could he have expected her to understand all of the intricacies and convolutions of what it had meant, when Robert offered him Hand of the King? How could he have expected her to understand then, just a child, that saying no to the offer would have been more dangerous (or so he thought) than accepting? That part of his motivation for having accepted was on the tail end of the news of Jon Arryn's death, the suspicious circumstances from Lady Arryn? The horror and terror in Cat's eyes the night Maester Luwin delivered the raven's message - how abruptly she'd tossed the parchment into the fire for fear of being discovered.

He exhales a breath, hands falling to her shoulders where they grip her - squeezing affectionately and softly.

"You were behaving the way a child of that age should behave, Sansa. Leaving for King's Landing was not your decision to make; it was mine. And I should've made it differently. This isn't and shouldn't be your burden to bear, my dear girl." At her words, the chill awakens again, as though rustled by the sound of her voice. A shudder runs through him from crown to sole, though he does well to hide it. His expression doesn't betray the cold in his bones.

Her words - those names - do what the cold had been unable to do: make him tremble. He flexes his hands instinctively to keep the tremors concealed.

"- They're here? They've arrived here? Safely?" His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. "Old Gods be good. Please, Sansa; take me to them."

Sansa understood enough now the position that her Father had been in when the King had 'asked' him to be his Hand. She could see now how that had been the signature on his death warrant and that he had been doomed from the moment he stepped foot into King's Landing. How they had all been doomed that day.

How could she tell him that she knew what happened to his friend and how it had been her Aunt who killed her husband out of love for someone else? No, there were things she didn't need to tell him now. They had a chance to be together and happy, she wasn't going to ruin that by telling him all the things that had happened since his death.

"I could have asked to stay home." She pointed out before dropping the argument and the reminder of what she had done to him. It was easier to focus on the topic of his other children, knowing it would distract him and bring him some comfort as well as joy.

"Jon and Robb were here when I arrived. Arya arrived a little while after." She wished that she had a way to summon them home but she knew it wouldn't take long for them all to be reunited again. Reaching up to take one of his hands, she turned to lead him from the fountain in what she hoped was the right direction.

Ned's eyes narrow - catching glimpse of the tempest behind the clarity of Sansa's eyes. Despite their long absence from one another, he could still tell when she was withholding information. He thinks to ask about what it might be, pry a little bit - but he corrals his tongue into obedience. He trusts that, if she is unwilling to share something, there is good reason for it. Perhaps something to be brought up again later, once he's had a moment to settle.

His hand rises to gently stroke the side of her head at her taking up the mantle of guilt and blame again, only offering a shake of his head as reply.

Her hand is warm against the chill of his, and he's suddenly awash with a feeling of his own guilt for having been forced to present himself to his daughter in such a state. He couldn't help but feel the blurring of roles - her assuming a more parental one, he more like a child needing to be led to a mutual destination. He promises himself, in the silence, that he must regain his footing. He is Eddard Stark, Father and Husband and Lord. Even if there are no titles to be had here, he must at least redress himself in the cloak of father, and all of the duties that come along with it.

"How long've you been here?" he thinks to ask, hastening his steps to be more in line with her.

Sansa could tell that he was struggling with himself in that moment and she wants nothing more than to soothe him but she doesn't know how. The best thing that she can do right now is to take him to their home and reunite him with his other children. She just hopes that no one tells him the future that looms ahead of them all.

"I arrived just as the first snowfall came." She glances back at him, the corners of her mouth twitching a little as she wonders if he will find the same amusement in it that she did. Especially given the motto of their House.

"That was nearly five or six months ago."

"That seems appropriate, doesn't it?" Ned retorts lightly, easily catching sight of both the twitch of her mouth and the underlying irony of it all. There's the glitter of something jovial, something playful in his eyes at the thought of it. How often had the words left their mouths, to serve both as a statement and a warning? Winter was always coming, whether sooner or later. He wonders how long the winter might last here, in this strange village. "Do you remember the last winter we had? You were but a child then, no more than three name days to speak of."

"I thought so once I was in dry clothes and no longer freezing from having arrived in the fountain at night." She smiles softly, catching the light of amusement in his eyes when he looks at her. Seeing that smile soothes something inside of him, reminding her briefly of happier days in Winterfell when they were all together and happy, untouched by the drama surrounding the Iron Throne.

"Barely." She tells him with a thoughtful look. "I remember it being cold and Mother not wanting me to go outside very much."

"It would seem to be the explanation for these," Ned replies, tugging lightly at his dampened scrubs - the color of freshly fallen snow. His eyes rake over hers, corners of his lips twitching enough to betray the stoicism he holds on his face. "And it seems whoever has brought us here has seen it fitting for you to take up the black."

Something in his eyes flickers at the mention of her mother. A stone dropping at the core of him, resounding and echoing into the darkness. Her absence felt, in every bone and drop of blood of his body. He reaches out and over, instinctively touches the fiery strands of her hair - her mother's, distinctively Tully. Forces the edges of his lips to smile at the memory of her as a child.

"She worried about you more often than she breathed, I think," he replies tenderly. "How she loved you."

Talking about her mother still hurts. Every mention of Catelyn seems to tear into her, leaving deep wounds in her heart and her soul as Sansa thinks of the way her mother had died. She couldn't let Ned know, though, because she knows it would hurt him worse to hear the things that had come to pass since his execution. So she makes herself smile a little when he reaches out to touch her hair, no doubt thinking of how much she looked like her mother. Really, it's one of her greatest prides in life.

"She loved us all rather fiercely." She murmurs softly, nodding a little. "We couldn't have asked for a better mother or father. We were lucky to have you."

She just wishes that she had appreciated it so fully before their deaths.

"I could not have asked for a better mother for my children," Ned agrees softly, reaching out to allow his thumb to lightly trace itself across the plump of Sansa's cheek before shaking his head. "You give an old man far too much praise."

There is a light-heartedness in his words, but there is a devastating riptide underneath the seemingly calm current. He knows the guilt of having led them all down to King's Landing, of having torn his children away from the protective arms of their mother, will haunt him to the end of his days. He knows, somewhere in the rationality he still carries, that it seemed the proper thing to do at the time - Sansa needed to become familiar with the ways of the royal court, as did Arya. But if he could have known what awaited them in King's Landing ..

"You have grown to look more like than I ever could have imagined; I hope you wear that distinction with honor."

"I do my best," Sansa promises him as they start walking again. She is aware of how much she looks like her mother though Lord Baelish had declared her to be more beautiful than her mother had been. Not that she likes to think of it that way because she still places her mother on a pedestal whenever she thinks about her. Just as she does with her father and maybe more so because of what happened.

It doesn't take long to lead him to the house, glancing over at his face again when she makes the motion for him to look. "Here we are. It's not Winterfell by any means but it's more than comfortable for us. I hope you will like it here."

"I have no doubt of it," Ned replies quietly as he follows at her side. He allows her to lead him to what is to be his new home, stealing furtive glances at her whenever he is able to without her notice.

Once at the bottom of the stairs of their porch, he skims the structure with a bemused consideration. It isn't lost on him that the colors are so reflective and indicative of their family crest. It isn't Winterfell by any means, and it is unlike any dwelling he'd previously encountered, yet there is a familiarity lingering there that he can't quite place.

"Did you and your siblings pick the colors?" he asks, speaking over his shoulder at her.

"I wish I could say that we had but the house was already like this when I arrived. You would have to ask Robb." She answers with a small smile on her face, unaware of just how much it makes her look like Catelyn in that moment when she looks at him.

Then she focuses on the house again, climbing the step and leading him to the front door so she can let them in. Akira bursts past him with a small yip, darting after her master excitedly and heading straight to the kitchen where there is a dish of food waiting for her.

Ned barely has time to notice the small bundle of fur that whips past his feet, nearly toppling him over on his way up the stairs. Instead, his focus, his attention, his gaze is set squarely on Sansa - on the mirage of Catelyn in her features, the embers of her hair, the clarity of her eyes. He catches up to her on the porch, reaches out for her arm gently.

He lifts his hand and delicately lets the backs of his fingers skim across her cheek. She's older - so much older than when he'd last seen her, that fateful morning at the Sept - but there is no mistaking who she is. His other hand promptly envelops her, draws her closer to him into an embrace.

"Old Gods be good, I am glad you are with me," he murmurs quietly, smoothing the back of her hair.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

receive the horizon dawn’s golden glow; honor is among us, honor is all we know

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject