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

[learned_to_die]

"Oh, my dear girl," Ned murmurs quietly, heart full and bursting with love, reaching to tenderly tuck some of the strands of her short, chestnut hair behind her ear. "From your lips to the Old Gods' ears; let us continue to hope, eh?" His hands fall to her shoulders where they offer a parting squeeze before removing themselves, though the absence of her in his arms, against his palms is too great a sorrow to bear - and so he reaches out for her hands instead, carefully curling his fingers around her palms. "Tell me, do you still have Needle with you?" He'd not come through with Ice, but he hadn't expected to - it hadn't been his, in the end.

[catchallthecats]

Gods above, but did she miss this. Just studying him intently, the expression warming his stern features, the affection that always seemed to lurk in his tone when they spoke. Trying to memorize them like she’d never realized she should when she was younger and he seemed to be untouchable, unassailable. But she had the chance now, and she’d take it.

She let him take her hands without any fuss, wanting that contact too, that assurance that this was indeed real. A small shake of her head at the question, a sour grimace crossing her face.

“Not here. It’s hidden safely back home, but no one here came through with anything familiar.” She felt an urge to reassure him though. If she had Needle it meant that she’d not fallen into too much danger, right? “I’ve made myself a practice sword to continue working on my forms, but it’s not the same.”

[learned_to_die]

He murmurs an affirmative tone, both for the fact that Needle hadn't come through with her but also for the expression that crosses her face. Images of her practicing with Syrio float through his consciousness - going from an overeager and quickly disarmed child to a sure-footed young woman, the sword an extension of her arm - just as he'd instructed. He remembers thinking of how Cat would have scolded him, had she found out about the Water Dancing lessons - how the pursuit would have been terribly unladylike, and he was wrong to encourage it. He remembers planning his rebuttal should the conversation ever unfold, and the importance of their children's happiness being a main proponent of his argument.

Arya had been happy then, hadn't she?

"That's my girl," he growls quietly with a fond warmth in his voice. "Perhaps we could see to finding you a new instructor, if you were interested and if there is one to be had here."

[catchallthecats]

For all she'd disliked King's Landing, she had been happy in those lessons. No matter how little it might have changed her overall life before, it was still a sign that her father loved her for who she was, cared for her happiness for all he might not understand why she was so drawn to less ladylike pursuits.

"I'm not sure how many there are besides Jon, Robb, and now you, but I'd not say no to learning more." She couldn't help the shift in posture, straightening slightly, shoulders squaring with the pride that she felt stirring at the fond sort of approval he offered. "I've been learning staves too, and I've gotten better with a bow."

For all she'd changed, there was still that thread that ran through her, a deep-running desire for her father's approval, for him to be proud of her.

[learned_to_die]

"That settles it; I will do my part and attempt to find someone to continue your lessons, so long as you are interested and willing." Ned quickly notices the change in the straightness of her frame, the puffing of her chest, and offers a quiet rumble of a chuckle in return. He reaches out, catches her chin between his thumb and forefinger affectionately. "From what I can recall, you always had a natural talent for the bow," he replies warmly, remembering watching his sons in the yard, back when things had been tame and calm: Robb and Jon attempting to teach Bran how to shoot properly, Arya's arrow bolting through as sure as day - straight into the center of the target. "And outside of these pursuits? How else have you filled your time?"