//------------------------------// // 1 - In Which Ned Stark is Both Afraid and Brave // Story: Ned Stark in Equestria // by ProbablyHuman //------------------------------// Eddard Eddard Stark was a good man, betrayed and broken. He knew he’d lost, that the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros had been delivered neatly into the laps of traitors. King Joffrey Baratheon was no Baratheon at all. The first child of Queen Cersei Lannister, born from incest with her brother Jaime, was believed by all to be the son of the late King Robert Baratheon. Robert had been killed by a boar, but it was more than likely the Lannisters had had a hand in his death. That’s another king killed by Lannister treachery, he mused darkly. Ned had mourned endlessly these last months. His friend Jon Arryn, who had served as the Hand of the King to Robert, had been poisoned for learning the truth of the matter--that the Queen’s children were not the King’s. Then Ned had to cope with his son Bran’s grave injury-- he’d fallen from an old tower at Winterfell, or perhaps he’d been thrown, as the attempt on the boy’s life in the week afterwards suggested. But when Robert died, he’d had no time to mourn, as he had tried to act to stop the traitorous Lannisters. Tried and failed, he reminded himself. Sitting in his cell, he thought back to what Varys had told him. Ned knew they had his daughter Sansa hostage, and they would be sure to kill her if he refused to confess to a treason he had never committed. If he claimed that Joffrey was Robert’s true heir, if he lied to preserve the peace… his daughter would live. He himself might be allowed to live if he confessed, to be sent as a traitor back north, not to Winterfell but to take the black, to serve on the Night’s Watch with Jon Snow and Benjen. All it would cost him was his honor. There were footsteps outside his cell. The cell door opened, and without a word, two of the gold cloaks walked in and grabbed him, dragging him from his cell. He tried to stand for himself, for a second, but the wound Jaime Lannister had dealt his leg burned in agony, and he gave up, closing his eyes and trying to block out the pain. As they dragged him up the stairs from the dungeon, he thought of Arya. If they had found Arya, she would have tried to fight with the sword he’d let her keep. They’d be sure to kill her. She could be dead already, a voice in his head grimly reminded him. Ned opened his eyes again, and was no longer in the dark dungeon, but in bright, blinding daylight, facing a crowd. He lifted his head, and saw himself to be on the Sept of Baelor. Surrounded on all sides by the gold cloaks, he had a hard time seeing who else was there. The High Septon was present, fat and grey with age. So was Queen Cersei, as well as the boy, the false King, Joffrey. Petyr Baelish, who’d betrayed him, stood by Sansa’s side. She looked… happy? Did they mean to forgive him? Ned could not be sure. The Hound and four men of the Kingsguard stood by, ready to kill him if he made a wrong move. Varys moved among the lords in his slippers and silk. Ned knew what he had to do; looking forward, he spoke, though his voice came out weak and wavering. The crowd jeered. Trying again, he raised his voice as best he could. “I am Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King, and I come before you to confess my treason in the sight of gods and men.” They heard him this time, and the crowd booed him. He raised his voice louder, straining to be heard. “I betrayed the faith of my king and the trust of my friend, Robert.” He was shouting now. “I swore to defend and protect his children, yet before his blood was cold, I plotted to depose and murder his son and claim the throne for myself. Let the High Septon and Baelor the Beloved and the Seven bear witness to the truth of what I say: Joffrey Baratheon is the one true heir to the Iron Throne, and by the grace of all the gods, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.” The lies left a foul taste in Ned’s mouth, but he knew it to be a necessity--for his family, and for, he hoped, peace in Westeros. He began to look down to the floor of the Sept once more, and so he didn’t see the stone until but a moment before it hit him. It struck his forehead, leaving a painful gash. Blood streamed from the wound, obscuring his vision as it poured over his eye. As the commotion subsided, the High Septon knelt before Joffrey and Cersei. “As we sin, so do we suffer”, he spoke, his voice resounding and deep. “This man has confessed his crimes in sight of gods and men, here in this holy place. The gods are just, yet Blessed Baelor taught us that they are also merciful. What shall be done with this traitor, Your Grace?” Eddard listened as the boy began to dictate his fate. Young Joffrey raised his voice over the noise of the crowd, still jeering Eddard's alleged treasons. "My mother bids me let Lord Eddard take the black, and Lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father." Joffrey paused, as if savoring the moment, and then continued. "But they have the soft hearts of women. So long as I am your king, treason shall never go unpunished. Ser Ilyn, bring me his head!" The crowd roared, Sansa screamed, and Eddard prayed to any gods that might listen. He prayed forgiveness for his mistakes. He prayed for his family to be reuinited, and prayed for peace in Westeros, though he knew that to be in vain. His son Robb would have war when word of his execution reached Winterfell, there was no doubt of that. Stannis Baratheon would try to claim the throne that was his by right should word reach him of Joffrey's true parentage. Eddard did not pray for himself. There was argument on the pulpit, as it was a holy site, and Joffrey had defied his mother, who assuredly knew this would bring war. But the king had spoken. Ser Ilyn Payne walked up and pushed Eddard to the ground. He wielded the greatsword Ice, the ancestral blade of House Stark, forged of Valyrian steel. For a moment, Eddard looked out to the crowd, kneeling, and waiting for his deathblow. One person in the crowd stood out to him, though a distance away. A girl, dressed in rags. She looked on the scene with anger, moving through the crowd as fast as she could, before a man stepped in front of her. Could it be? Gods, it is; Arya is alive! It was then the blade came down. There was a flash of pain. Darkness followed. Much to Eddard's surprise, he was still conscious, a mind floating in an empty void. It is an indescribably odd sensation, to be without corporeal, physical form. It is also a hard thing to confront the knowledge that you are no longer alive, or at least not in the way you were previously. Dead. I'm dead. This is what happens after life, Eddard thought, numbly. Suddenly, there was a voice. Sort of. Well, mostly yes to your first observation, and not really to your second. Eddard attempted to respond to this. He fumbled with the words, in his mind. Eventually formulating a coherent reply, he thought Where am I? This is the afterlife? Where you are is a sort of a place between worlds, the voice explained, patiently. There are places between life and death, where time doesn’t entirely apply. Do I get to see them?, Ned asked, pleadingly. What are you talking about? See who? Rickard, Brandon, Lyanna, Robert, Jon Arryn- The voice sighed in frustration, and then began to speak. NO, this isn’t some big communal afterlife. This isn’t really an afterlife at all, per se. You see, when your head got cut off, I took your soul from your dying body, and put it here. My soul...? Eddard thought in awe, What are you? A god? Annnd suddenly I remember why I don’t do this more often, the voice said in an exasperated tone, to itself more than anyone. Explaining even a little bit of how the multiverse functions is a pain, especially to people who just died. Here’s the thing- you’re not Lord Stark of Winterfell anymore. You’re a disembodied soul on a far off plane of existence, and for most intents and purposes, quite dead. Though not a ‘god’, I am a being of significant power and knowledge, and I did just you a big favor. Your little world is one of many, and in Westeros, your body died an unpleasant, though quick, death, and your soul would have gone with it if I’d not plucked it out of there. However, I do have the power to give you your body back and put you back in a different world, good as new. What sort of world would you like to go to? It took Ned no time at all to be sure of his answer. Send me back. Send me back to Westeros. I have to fix this, my family needs- The voice cut him off once again. No, no, no. You’re dead there, remember? I’m not resurrecting you in Westeros. Try again. Eddard was silent for a moment. I want to go somewhere peaceful. Some place where good triumphs over evil, which has not seen war in a thousand years. There aren’t all that many places like that... I do know of one, though. You’ll get your old body back. It’s not a perfect world, and I can’t see its future. You’ll live the rest of your mortal years there, and there’s no do-overs for this. Life. A new chance to live. Why are you doing this for me? The voice just laughed. FOR you? I’m not doing this for YOU. I’m doing this because it’s funny. Before Eddard could respond, he was pulled from the void, and into Equestria.