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

[learned_to_die]

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.

Comments

waha-cough | Village

[kissed_byfire]

For the wildling, life in the village was still a quiet existence. Mostly because she didn't exactly know how to fit in beyond contributing and having the occasional run-in with the people who were all brought in the same way as she. Even at the moment when their lives seemingly ended, only to be brought here to live longer.

That was something Ygritte struggled with the reality of. Every day.

On that particular evening, she was out walking, looking more like the spearwife north of the Wall than any other day. She'd been out in the trees, sitting at her small spot with a fire and a long piece of wood that she was carefully whittling down and shaping to become a bow. At least until the sun went down and it started getting a little colder. Ironically, she came to enjoy sleeping indoors. It took some time but she preferred it now.

As she headed back her eyes went to the fountain instinctively and that's when she saw the man standing there, looking thoughtful.

"Ya must be new," she started, coming up to stand opposite him. "Not so bad here, really. If ya can get over the lack of answers to all the questions ya probably have."

AWWWW YISSSSS

[learned_to_die]

The suddenness of the voice seemingly materializing out of nothing catches Ned off-guard, head whipping 'round to find its source. Eyes quickly scan her from head to toe, harmonizing the woman standing before him - those fire-laden strands so reminiscent of his wife, though hers are a might brighter hue - with the sound of her voice. He recognizes the twist and curl of her tongue around her words. He recognizes the cadence of her speech.

A Wildling.

The last thing he had ever expected to find here.

"Haven't even had time to think of all that many," he utters quietly, his voice perhaps lacking some of the warmth that would've been there had she been someone else. Someone south of the Wall. "Suppose it wouldn't hurt in asking - is that," he gestures towards the fountain, "the way everyone comes through?"

[kissed_byfire]

There was no offence taken to his indifferent tone, in fact, it was familiar, in a sense; a way that she was spoken to far more often than she wasn't. Most there had a friendly approach and that was what often had her unsure of how to react. Of course, she was still learning, so sometimes she, herself, would come across as the rude one.

Like him, Ygritte found the man's intonation familiar. But not to directly relate him as a Southroner. More to directly relate him as a Stark. In realising it, her lips curl knowingly before it vanishes completely when she looks into the rippling waters.

"Mhm," she sounds the confirmation. "Everyday, it seems. No one sees them comin' out of it, though. Ya just know new faces, like your own."

A beat passes as Ygritte regards him.

"So which Stark are you?"

A bold question to ask so soon after meeting him, but this Wildling doesn't care too much for formalities. Or, minding her own business.

[learned_to_die]

He observes her quietly, setting his jaw subtly as she deciphers him the way he had with her. He wonders if she'll unravel the disguise he's been forced to wear, all of his familiar accouterments stripped by the waters of the fountain (or perhaps it had been the passage from old life into new that had taken that which was deemed unnecessary by the Old Gods, if they had a hand in this). He's no sigil expertly embroidered anywhere on his person. Still, the white of the cloth covering his body now seems somehow oddly appropriate: the color of freshly fallen snow as it blankets the world beneath, the world of men. Winter is coming, isn't it?

She's more astute than he would've figured. It takes her nearly no time at all to pinpoint his lineage, and there's the hint of amusement in his eyes at her question.

"Glad to know I've not disappointed my House, even in strange lands," he begins before adding, "I'm Eddard Stark." Tongue shifts to unbind the slew of titles that always followed his name, but he instead presses it against to the roof his mouth, creating a dam. He figures she'll know them all; he needn't invoke such useless things here. "And which leader do - did you follow, north of the Wall?"