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

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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.

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She didn't expect him to know her. They never had the opportunity to cross paths, nor did she imagine her family had paid him much mind. The Tyrells had been busy planning their eventual rise to power. The Lannisters had been their concern, not the Starks. Though she imagined he had at least seen her brother...and heard the rumors of him. Loras had never truly been discreet.

"Margaery of House Tyrell." It seemed so long since she could last introduce herself in that way. In this world, it had to be "Margaery Tyrell", otherwise there would be confusion. It was refreshing to at least return to some of the old ways, the familiar courtesies of home. She could almost forget her recent existence in this world and imagine herself a noble lady once more. Despite enjoying her chores and the satisfaction at the end of the day, she missed her life in High Garden.

She didn't expect a warm welcome. Her house had never made it apparent where their loyalties lie or what their aim was. The only true allegiance they seemed to overtly display was towards Renly and that was due to Loras.

"We never had the opportunity to meet, Lord Stark, but I have heard a great deal about you. Your reputation proceeds you."

"House Tyrell?" The words sound more like an accusation than an echo, and his mind furiously attempts to regather what it is he knows about the Tyrells: Ser Loras, the Knight of the Flowers, his relationship with Renly; Renly showing Ned a golden locket, inside of which was a portrait of a beautiful maiden, whom he'd claimed looked like Ned's sister, Lyanna; Robert mentioning the sister of Ser Loras, a maiden 'lovely as the dawn;' Renly claiming ownership of the crown in a traitorous usurping of Stannis with the support of House Tyrell.

She's older than she had been when he'd first heard of her from Robert, and when he'd seen the painted portrait of her inside of Renly's locket. She is lovely, only a blind fool would deny that (and even then, perhaps not) - but Ned is quick to remember that the sun, though beautiful at dawn, can blind those who gaze upon it too long, can set fire to brush like kindling. He wonders just how like the sun Margaery might be.

The sudden deluge of memory makes his back stiffen, forcing him to stand more upright than he has been. He has no reason to dislike Margaery, especially given that he's never had the opportunity to meet her before, but her affiliation with the Tyrells (knowing their desire for power) is a little less than warming. Still, old courtesies are hard to break - and so, he bows his head in mutual respect, hand at his waist, pausing for a moment before straightening.

"I'd be quick to say the same of you," he replies carefully. "Indeed, your reputation precedes you."

Edited 2017-03-14 20:49 (UTC)

"A reputation not as well earned as your own." It is said with nothing but respect. Even for those that felt Ned Stark was a fool (which she was not among), it was hard to deny that he was a man of deep conviction and unflinching honor. There were truly no men like him, which made him all the more remarkable. Renly had spoken of him warmly, despite how they parted. Loras had a grudging respect for the man, but not as much as their grandmother did. There were very few that Lady Olenna approved of, though it didn't stop her sharp tongue from criticizing his actions.

She offered him a seat, not wishing him to remain standing for over long. Her neck was straining to look up at him as it was. She arranged herself prettily in her seat and smiled kindly, adopting the sweet air that she had given to Sansa in the beginning. It was meant to be soothing, rather than as a means to gain his favor. There was nothing it could earn her in this world, save for a friend.

Ambition had been left behind in Westeros, as dead as she was.

"You have seen your children, my lord? I can hardly imagine how they must feel to be reunited with you." His death had struck them very hard. "Family will make your life here bearable and warm."

"Kind of you to say, m'lady," Ned replies easily, another bow of the head and diversion of the gaze. After she sits herself down in the seat nearest his, he does the same, settling back in front of the radiating warmth of the hearth. He remembers the tea she's brought him, and he takes it into his hands to warm the chill of his fingertips. He studies it for a few moments, the lingering paranoia of King's Landing and his previous life still lurking like a whispering shadow. He determines there would be no purpose in her harming him here. There's no throne to obtain, no titles to hold. And so, after a moment, he brings the liquid to his lips and lets a few drops trickle down his throat, chasing away some of the cold that had settled in his bones since his arrival.

"I have," he replies, the warmth in his voice created by the thought of his children rather than the tea. "It seems the Old Gods have favored us, having seen fit to reunited us here." Of course, the entirety of the Stark family had not arrived - but he clung to hope (had to, really) that it wouldn't be soon before long. "And you? Have those in your previous life who would bring you warmth and comfort shown up?"

Edited 2017-03-17 13:53 (UTC)

Arya had a similar reaction when Margaery had given her tea. To ease the girl's fears, she had taken a drink before her, if only to show there was no poison. While Ned Stark hesitated, he didn't seem to need such reassurances. She smiled kindly at him as he sipped at the tea, waiting to see whether or not he liked it. While her cooking was so-so, the tea she made was refreshing and flavorful.

It was an odd sentiment but one she shared. No matter the hard life that they all faced, it at least provided them with a chance at life. The Starks could be together, perhaps not as fully as they would have wished, but enough that they could be a family once more. It was gratifying for Margaery to see, despite that she couldn't take part in it or share a similar feeling.

Her face softened, bearing a measure of sadness. "No. I am alone." Which she was used to in a sense. She had always relied on herself and her own wits to survive. Why should this world be any different?

After the liquid has left his throat, their warm trails still along his tongue, he nods his head towards her in appreciation and approval. It tastes different from what he'd have at home (though it was more often wine and ale than it was tea), but that's to be expected. She's done well for the limited resources and altered ingredients that are available here in this strange village, a town without a name.

"If you're able to create something like this with what you've available to you, one can only imagine what else you might be capable of creating. This is lovely, thank you." Trust is not easily won for Ned Stark, not any more, but this - a simple gesture of kindness and hospitality - certainly goes a long way. And such a sentiment should be voiced, he thinks. He brings the cup to his mouth again, eyes lingering on her face - catching sight of the underlying sobriety.

"I am sorry to hear that." His tone is quiet, soft - genuine. He can't even bear the thought of having arrived here without even just one of his children. "I am told that new arrivals happen rather frequently, and that my children hadn't expected mine when I'd broken the surface of the water; there is hope for you yet, Lady Tyrell."

Edited 2017-03-19 03:39 (UTC)

High Garden had provided her with the knowledge of how to cultivate plants and use them to best advantage. While she had never farmed with her own hands before, she at least understood the different flowers, berries and leaves that were sprinkled through the forest. It allowed her the chance to contribute something, as the life she had lived did nothing to prepare her for this world.

"You would be amazed at what I have managed to do, though I think it would be more shock. Proper ladies do not work with their hands." She folded them in her lap, covering the callouses that she had grown. "I care for many of the animals in the village. It isn't nearly as elegant as finding the right leaves for tea, but it is something that I enjoy." If only her grandmother could see her now.

She nodded, knowing what he said was true, but she wasn't certain she wanted them in this world. "It is perhaps better that they remain where they are. This life wouldn't suit Loras or my grandmother. After all that has happened, I should rather think that they have found some measure of peace instead of enduring hardships."

"Not in Westeros," Ned echoes, "But it would stand to reason we're no longer in Westeros." There's a slight twitch at the corner of his lips, a half-hearted and failed attempt at a smile. The vast majority of him is grateful to have been able to have left the madness behind - and yet, it was still home, a title this village had not yet earned. What he wouldn't give for another hour under the Weirwood of Winterfell. "It's very noble of you to assist where it's needed." Ned's a man who knows of many things, but animal husbandry? Not entirely.

He brings the mug to his lips again, allowing more of the liquid to seep into his mouth before nodding in her direction.

"I believe that is what we all hope for those we love." There's a gravity behind his statement, and he knows he need not explain it or the price to be a player of the Game.

"Hardly noble," she replied with a wave of dismissal. "When I arrived, it was not long after the first that were brought here. There only a few in the village and we had no crops, no animals, we had to fend for ourselves. The choice was either work or starve. Survival has a tendency to show us our priorities." It wasn't the first time that she learned it either. Loras had outweighed ambition in the end.

"The animals were in the forest, it was only a matter of herding them to the makeshift pen that Jon built for me. After my home was destroyed, they were moved to the jailhouse." But she was prattling on about nothing. "Forgive me. What I mean is that your words are kind, but I have not earned them. Your family has shown me how ineffectual the southron lands have prepared me for winter."

She grinned at him, leaning forward. "Apparently it does come after all."

Ned allows her to speak, interested in the details of the beginnings of the village, the others who inhabit it, her own adjustments to the way of life offered here. He is outwardly pleased to know that Jon was the one to assist her in constructing a pen, wondering vaguely where he might have learnt the skill as it was not one he would have picked up in Winterfell (though, of course, they did have livestock and kennels). He shakes his head with an outward facing palm to show there is no harm or offense taken at her short monologue. If anything, he is grateful for it.

"Please, I am rather interested to hear about this village. Is it true there is no name for it? Are there other suggestions you might make for a lord who's spent no time of his life farming or tilling the land?"

Her comment garners a bright bolt of laughter, his hand coming to his mouth to conceal it some. He is careful of his tea, mindful not to spill a drop.

"That is the beauty of it - it is always true, one way or another."

"No name as of yet." There hadn't been much thought about those sort of details. "We meet as a community to make decisions and to work the land. There is no system in place that is similar to our world." Which was perhaps a good thing. They didn't need power to corrupt in the village. There was so little as it was, it would only make them suffer in the end.

"I would suggest seeking tutelage from someone that might know better." She offered. They had been in the same predicament. She had never farmed or tilled the land before, but now understood it far better than other ladies of her station. "You learn from experience as well. I should be glad to show you, Lord Stark."

It never failed to please her to see a Stark laugh. It was like some rare gift to be bestowed on only a blessed few.

"The direwolf makes it especially poignant. Winter is as harsh as a direwolf."

"It seems strange, does it not? To take residence in a village that bears no name?" Perhaps he is too rooted and steeped in tradition, relating this land to the one they had both called home. He wonders if it brings ill-fortune, to exist under an absent banner, the way it does to wield an unclaimed weapon. "Perhaps that is for the best," he murmurs quietly, glancing at her from over the rim of his cup as he brings it to his lips. He need not explain - he knows she will understand.

"Your kindness knows no bounds, Lady Tyrell. My only fear is that I will not be able to flourish as a farmer or herder enough to give you the satisfaction of a pupil well-taught." Of course, Ned had thought the same of becoming Lord of Winterfell, and he had managed for many years with little guidance. "Certainly, it can be, if one is unprepared. And what of your sigil? A golden rose against a green field, is it not? A warning not to be enticed by beauty when underneath such delicate petals lie a stem a thorns?"

"Perhaps it is wise not to have a name? There is something about this world that makes it feel as though it is not our own." It was their cage, but she would not say so aloud. "I have no wish to treat this place as I would High Garden or Winterfell. It is my home, the only home I shall have, but I bear no allegiance to it as I would the Reach or Highgarden or anywhere else I may have traveled to. It hasn't taken root in my soul."

It was strange to confess this to Eddard Stark so soon after his arrival. It wasn't something she had thought or admitted to herself before, but it was more true than she had realized. She wasn't certain she could ever feel truly happy here.

"You will learn in time, my lord and that is all it shall take to satisfy me. There is some pleasure in the simple work and routine. I imagine you shall understand my meaning when you have planted your first seed or sheared your first sheep. If you like, I could show you how to tend to the animals? I should be grateful for another pair of eyes to help me as they graze."

She laughed, "My grandmother would disagree. She found the rose quite boring. I think she would have preferred us to be a wolf and have more imposing words."

"It is not home as we know it, no; of that you are certainly correct," Ned replies carefully, giving the Inn a quiet, considering glance. He taps his finger on the side of the mug, radiating a gentle warmth from the last bit of tea still undulating inside with his movements. "But I will not scorn or denounce a world in which I have had the utmost blessing of being reunited with some of my children." He considers her from over the bottom of the mug as he raises it, swallowing down the last bit of the liquid before setting it on the small table beside his chair.

"If you were to be so kind as to offer, I would be a fool to deny your generosity." Learning to farm, learning to sow and plant would be an adjustment for Lord Eddard Stark, who knew the curves and weights of blades and shields - not the ways of the earth and its bounties. But he would learn. If that is what it meant for him to be able to stay here, be with his children - he would learn.

There is a tug at the corner of his lips as he loosely clasps his hands in his lap, allowing the clarity of her laugh to echo in his ears.

"Your grandmother was certainly a wolf in her own right," he admits with a hint of a grin. "I never had the pleasure of meeting her, but there was not a man or woman in Westeros who had not heard of the sharp edges of her wit and the quick movements of her tongue."

"You are fortunate, Lord Stark. Truly, I am gladdened that you are reunited with your family. Your house has suffered greatly and there are none that are more deserving of this moment." She meant the words, even as it pained her to admit them. Talk of her grandmother and thoughts of Loras stirred that longing in her to life. However, she knew in her heart that she didn't wish them to be here. This world was not suited for them and they deserved peace.

She bowed her head, her smile returning. "I expect no complaints. I may be lenient in how quickly you are to learn, but I do expect you to work hard." She was so much younger than him, but spoke to him in the same tone as a queen. It was in good humor, as she burst into laughter afterwards. "Join me at dawn tomorrow. I let the animals graze and I must tend to my cow as well. She will be bearing a calf in a few months."

His words of praise brought a warmth to her cheeks. "I believe she would have approved of you, Lord Stark." Perhaps not his honor or naivety, but she had a fondness for the kind. "I only wish that our families could have met sooner. The Starks and Tyrells should have made formidable allies."

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

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