Eddard Stark (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
learned_to_die) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixthiterationlogs2017-03-10 11:10 pm
learned_to_die) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2017-03-10 11:10 pm
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.
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.
no subject
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."
no subject
"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."
no subject
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."