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

[king_in_the_north]

A father's guilt was cold comfort regardless of its measure of truth; Robb was a Stark, he understood well enough his father's plain and honest brand of honor, but he knew of no way to explain that plainness and honor had had very little to do with any of it, in the end. That the lives of everyone left behind after he'd died had become more tangled and twisted up than any of them ever might have imagined back when they'd been tucked safely away in their cold and stolid stronghold so far from the rest of the world.

"You couldn't have known," was all he said now, the best he could reasonably do. "None of us could have known what was to come."

[learned_to_die]

"No. Perhaps the gods themselves hadn't known," Ned replies reflectively, speaking half to the dirt underfoot and half to his son. "Suppose it does little to have carried the weight here, wherever we might be." He gives a thoughtful glance upwards, noting that there was little in the sky and air around them that was noticeably different, and yet -

Something was off.

"How long've you been here, Robb?"

[king_in_the_north]

"Many moons," Robb answered, quick to catch hold of a less complicated topic. "Longer than I rightly recall, to be entirely honest. Perhaps half a year. Jon's been here longer, and Sansa and Arya arrived a moon or two after me. Although the timing makes little sense— Ah. Here."

The house was looming out of the mist at last, little more than a shack compared to Winterfell, and yet one of the largest homes to be had. They were apparently going to need that space even more than they'd realized.

"It isn't much, but it keeps the rain off our heads," he said, leading his father up the stairs.

[learned_to_die]

"Half a year?" The length seems like an eternity, for the way Ned feels now. He thinks to ask about how many nights it would take for the spinning of his head to wear off, but thinks better of it and bites his tongue instead. No need to burden his son with maladies Ned can more than handle on his own.

At the sight of house, Ned glances up and considers the exterior for a few moments. It is a harsh contrast to the home they'd shared in Winterfell, but - there is little of which to complain. The halls and rooms would once again be filled with his children's voices, the sounds of their laughter, the warmth of their bodies (he thinks of Bran, and Rickon, and Cat) - and, thusly, it would more than suffice.

"These colors, did you choose them?" he asks, noting their resemblance to the Stark banner colors.

[king_in_the_north]

"It's a bit of a coincidence, isn't it?" Robb replied as he stepped inside the tidy front room, holding open the door for his father. "Most of the homes here are much smaller than this, perhaps you noticed. I started in a smaller one with Jon, but when the girls arrived, we needed more room. But the color may have contributed to choosing this house in particular.

"There's a privy just through there," he added with a motion through the tiny dining area. "If you'd like to take off your wet clothes. There ought to be something dry to wear in your sack. We haven't a fireplace, but there's an oven in the cellar that heats the house. I'll go stoke it a bit."

This was easier for now, if not an entirely honest reaction to the reality of Eddard Stark standing in the middle of the modest home he'd made with Sansa and Arya. For now, finding ways to simply put one foot in front of the other seemed the wisest course.

[learned_to_die]

"If we were still in Westeros, I'd think it too much of a coincidence," Ned replies quietly as he slips past Robb into the belly of the dwelling. He listens to Robb dole out instructions and guidance like the man Ned supposes he is now, still struggling to connect the boy he'd left behind and the man standing before him. After he finishes speaking, the faint echo of his voice still ringing in his ears, Ned can only admire him quietly for a moment - gaze soft and gentle and adoring.

He reaches out and places a hand on Robb's shoulder, saying nothing, only offering a gentle but firm squeeze before excusing himself to change into dry clothes.