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

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// 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

[turned_to_steel]

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.

[learned_to_die]

"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."

[turned_to_steel]

"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."

[learned_to_die]

"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.

[turned_to_steel]

"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.

[learned_to_die]

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.