The Birth of Dragons

Lord Eddard Stark

Ned hated ships, he had never understood them, and now he was confined to one, and he hated it. The movement under his feet was causing him to almost always be sick, and it was infuriating. He tried to spend as much time as he could below deck, in his cabin, his men weren't doing so good either. Now though, he needed to speak with the captain, and so that was where he found himself, on deck, Ice on his back, the captain at his side. He took a deep breath then spoke. "I have been meaning to ask you Captain, why are you helping me?"

The man known only to Ned as the Captain, was tall with silvery hair and pale eyes, he could've counted as Targaryen had one been of the nature, his voice was deep, and soft at the same time. "Because Lord Varys is an old friend of mine, and he asked me to."

Ned feels as if that is supposed to comfort him, but all he feels is uneasy. "I see. And how exactly do you know Lord Varys?"

The man smiles an elusive smile, something that only adds to his uneasiness. "We are old friends me and the spider. But that is not something you want to know. We shall be in White Harbour in around another week, then you may head to Winterfell."

Ned nods, but before he can voice a response, one of the crew members comes up to them and says. "Ships spotted nearing us Captain, they fly no banners."

Ned feels fear lynch through him, briefly fearing Lannisters. The Captain seems unperturbed, but says. "Flash a light, and if they respond, we need not worry." The crewman does as ask, and there is a response, but then a giant groan sounds by somewhere close by, and Ned automatically finds his hand going for the pommel of his sword. Another groan sounds, and then another, before snapping reaches him. "Shit, they've got more." Ned is about to ask what the captain means when bolts come flying out into their stream. More ships appear, then the fighting starts.

He is surprised that this supposed merchant vessel has weapons on it, but then he supposes he should not be surprised at all, the Spider would've taken precautions. Bolts are fired, weapons are drawn, and as ships draw closer they are back to back, swinging their swords and slaying men. Ned feels his heart racing, Ice heavy in his hands, he dances from foot to foot, trying desperately to keep going, he breaks through, and more men come. Onward they go, bashing through the chaos, trying desperately not to fall. Men approach and men fall, but he remains there, his men guarding him, they are bleeding, he swears Jory is by his side one moment and then somewhere else the next.

He breaks out in a sweat, more so than before, his heart thrumming inside his chest. Men approach, he parries one blow and then another, and another, before feeling steel slip through the gap in his defence, he gasps slightly at the contact, but keeps moving. The man who did the deed is cut down by a dozen swords before he can make another move on Ned, and for that he is grateful, for by that point there are about a dozen more men coming to fight him. He spins and dances, remembering the moves taught to him so long ago during his youth at the Vale, his sword wet with blood, whilst his own blood dances out onto the floor from a dozen minor injuries. Eventually, he begins slowing, he sees his men fall and die, whilst other men fall and die also, the Captain stands and fights alongside his crew, but then disappears. Ned feels a spear-where did they get a fucking spear from? - pierce his leg, and he goes down, groaning in agony as he does so. He hears sharp rebukes being issued by their attackers, but before he can truly process things, he slumps down, Ice dropping from his hand and onto the deck of the ship. He sees a tall, barrel chested man move toward him, grin at him before kicking him unconscious.

Time passes him by, he comes to occasionally, his leg paining, his head throbbing, he sees bodies being dumped overboard, he sees a man who looks like the captain being given a bag of what probably contains gold, and he feels anger bloom in him. He sees bodies of his men being burned, or thrown away. He feels hands press against him, painful in their touches, he wants to bark at them, demand that they leave him be, but he does not, he cannot speak so weak and tired is he. He closes his eyes again.

When next Ned opens his eyes, he is no longer on the ship, instead, it seems he is on a boat, a little one meant to ferry someone to another place. He leans over the side and throws up, his guts spilling out into the sea beneath them. He wipes his hand, looks once at the person ferrying him across, he does not recognise that person, and then he closes his eyes and goes to sleep again, trying to numb any sort of pain.

The third time he opens his eyes, he feels the rocking of a ship caught in a storm, and he whispers. "Winterfell." He gets no response, and falls into a dreamless sleep, but that is not entirely true, the ghosts of his past come back to haunt him. Figures long dead, cursing him, making him promise things against his will. Silver haired, brown haired, black haired, they all stand before him, mocking him.

The next time he wakes up, he is in a bed, he feels a cool breeze on his body, and there is something familiar and yet quite strange about this new place. It is not Winterfell, it is not White Harbour, he goes to move, to sit up, but winces in pain and so leans down. He hears a chuckle, and then a voice, deep and unfamiliar. "Ah, Lord Stark, so nice to see you awake."

"Where am I?" he rasps, his voice dry.

"Pentos." The voice replies kindly.