𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 || 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝑾𝒐𝒍𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝑪𝒓𝒚 𝑶𝒖𝒕

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑿𝑰

꧁~~~Eddard Stark~~~꧂
꧁~~~298 After Conquest~~~꧂

꧁He could scarcely remember what had even happened. But what did happen, it was too quick for him to even draw his sword, let alone the next breath as the cold steel of Littlefinger's blade was put to his throat, the Hound's steel embedded itself in one of his household guard's back as he tried crawling for his life. He thought he was going to make it, with some sort of madness, he must've thought he would have made it to the door and somehow manage to get all the way home to Winterfell. But that young lad would never see the North again, nor would the rest of the guard.

Nor would he.

Ned knew he was dead. Sitting in a cell with chains around his neck and ankles like an Essos slave, he knew he was a dead man. Sitting there in the damp dark with only the occasional squeal of rats fighting over a dead prisoner to keep the company of the next dead man. Everything has gone wrong. The world will be lit on fire and drowned in blood, and it is his fault. Ned knows that in this game, he had no room for error. He knew that he failed Jon Arryn, he failed Robert, the Realm, the whole bloody lot of them. He fought, and he lost.

"Now you're starting to see sense, Lord Stark."

The voice seemed like a distant memory, almost mirroring the same words, just switched around from the Sword of the Morning. And just like his sword, light fills the room briefly, making him flinch a little as sparks fly on the floor, and a fire appears before him. And across the cell, Ned pears into the dark purple eyes of Arthur Dayne once more.

"Seventeen years...though it has not been that long since we last spoke, Lord Stark."

"You're not real.."

Ned mumbles quietly, pinching his eyes shut and reopening them, only for the Sword of the Morning to be across from him clear as day in the Dark Cells.

"I'm about the realist thing in your world right now, Lord Stark. I'm all you've got."

"All I've got? A ghost coming to speak to me in my final days or hours?"

"A friend coming to give comfort like you did me in my dying breath."

The late Kingsguard's eyes trail down Ned and to his leg, nodding towards it.

"That must've hurt quite a lot, my Lord."

"Lannister...your former brother gave me his regards."

"Jaime was a loose sword, wild with energy that could not be quelled. But even with these faults, I could see that he was a good lad at heart. You happen to misinterpret these characteristics for unfaithfulness and dishonor."

"He killed my men!"

Ned lunges forward a little, but is swiftly stopped by his chains connected to the wall as well as his wounded leg, which grows with pain every passing second. But the Sword of the Morning only shakes his ghostly head, sighing heavily.

"You are so quick to condemn others, Lord Stark, that you have condemned yourself to death, for treason, no less."

"Treason these days more often than not is just a lie, as is everything else in this shit city."