Chapter Text
A crash of waves against sand, then the low roar as the sea pulls back.
Consciousness returns with gasps for air, sitting up with a start. He looks around and finds himself on a beach, the waves are now lapping at his boots. He looks out toward the sea, startled by its immensity.
After a moment he returns to his senses and feels about his neck with both hands as if to check for injuries. Nothing.
But how? Where is Sansa? Where is Ilyn Payne? Cersei? The crowd? How has he come to this place? Did Joffrey have the executioner sap him instead of kill him? He feels the back of his head but finds no pain, no injury. What then?
The man rises to his feet and turns to leave this strange shore - and that's when he sees it.
At the distant center of this great landmass there is a colossal tree of shining golden light, its immense trunk towering above all other features of the landscape, its massive canopy of gilded leaves blocking out half of the sky. From its branches shine down rays - like sunlight through clouds - that illuminate the landscape over which it towers. There are grand monuments in the far distance as well, to his eye perhaps equal in size to Winterfell itself, yet they appear like toys placed near this gargantuan tree.
I must be dead, he thinks to himself. Yet, this is not the Father’s Golden Hall that the Faith of the Seven promised, nor is it the endless forest of which the Old Gods whisper. Besides this one great tree there are other mundane trees and small forests that he can see on this green landscape, as well as great stone structures - even a castle out in the distance. Are there people here? What might they know of this place? Of him?
For what feels like an eternity he stands there looking upon the great tree of shining golden light. He needs for his thoughts to calm so that he might consider them with reason. To his dismay this does not help him - there is nothing to grab on to but shock. Unsure of what else to do, he falls to his knees and prays to what gods he knows and to any gods that might listen.
When his prayer returns his resolve to him he rises once more and sets off in the direction of the structures he saw. The sandy beach he found himself on gives way to low stony cliffs he must climb. On closer inspection he realizes some of these stony outcroppings are crumbling ruins, great stonework blocks of some tower or temple half buried in the sands. Of what providence he does not know, for their carvings and designs resemble nothing he’s seen before.
At the top of these cliffs there is a green pasture with more cliffs to his left and more coastline to his right. Before him he sees a temple or church in the near distance and just before that a small glade of trees. With nothing else around him that might serve as shelter, he makes this place his goal.
It’s as he passes by the glade of trees that he first discovers another person. They are hunched over and working with something on the ground. On the approach he can see that this person is field dressing some fresh kill, though what creature this was is obscured by the denseness of the forest foliage.
This stranger looks up from their work. Their face is covered by a white mask and they wear white robes and gloves, all splattered by blood. Having taken notice that they are being noticed, this masked stranger rises to stand and meet the man who washed up on the shore
“Hmm,” says the masked stranger, “another one from the Church of Anticipation?”
“I recall no church,” says the man who washed up on the shore, “I am Eddard Stark, of Winterfell.”
“Well met, Eddard Stark of Winterfell,” says the masked stranger, “I am Varré.”
“Well met Varré,” says Ned. Then, not without some apprehension, he asks: “Where, where are we?”
“We are in the Lands Between, Eddard Stark,” says Varré.
“The Lands Between?” asks Ned.
“Yes."
“The Lands Between what?” asks Ned.
“Well,” says Varré, “between many things, and many places.”
This answer is nonsense. Or is it that he's losing his mind? Ned puts a hand to his forehead.
“Please, good ser,” says Ned, “I am lost and I do not know how I arrived here. Where are we? What,” here Ned gestures toward the tree of golden light, “is all this?”
Varré tilts his head.
“You have forgotten your memories,” says Varré.
Ned stops to think for a moment. He can recall Winterfell, his childhood, his adulthood, Catelyn, Rob, Sansa, Rickon, Bran, Jon, and all the rest. He can recall his last days in King’s Landing, even the moment when he placed his head upon the block.
“No,” says Ned, “I remember who I am, but not how I arrived here.”
Varré looks upon him with curiosity. Ned can see Varré's eyes through the holes of his mask, bringing into focus the falseness of it. The effect is unsettling.
“You do not know who summoned you?,” asks Varré.
“I did not know I was summoned,” says Ned.
“And yet you can see it?” asks Varré, “the Erdtree?”
Ned looks to the gargantuan tree that dominates the horizon.
“The giant golden tree? Yes, of course I can see it."
“My, how…peculiar,” says Varré.
“Why is it peculiar?” asks Ned.
“Most Tarnished arrive at the Church, with a maiden to guide them and an invitation to the Roundtable Hold,” says Varré, “sadly, it seems you have neither. Without guidance and without an invitation, you will surely die.”
“I thought I had already died,” says Ned.
Ned can see a smile reach up to Varré’s eyes through the mask. Varré walks up to Ned and produces a simple knife. He places this in Ned’s hands.
“Put the blade to your flesh,” says Varré, “and ask yourself, to the dead bleed?”
Ned can feel the iron knife in his hands. It is sturdy. He lets the blade rest against his left thumb. It is sharp. With the barest of pressure he slices his thumb enough for it to bleed and then puts thumb to his mouth to lick away the blood. It tastes of iron.
“You are not dead,” says Varré, “though you may still end up so. But fear not Eddard Stark, for I, Varré, can help. Are you familiar with grace?”
Ned shakes his head.
“It is the golden light that gives life to you Tarnished,” says Varré, “you may see it at times along your path, pointing in a particular direction. That is the guidance of grace. This guidance will lead you to the answers you seek. Though it may also lead you to your grave…”
“This is…magic?” asks Ned.
“Of course,” says Varré, “the holy will of the she who has summoned you, Queen Marika the Eternal. The guidance of grace will reveal the way forward to her, most certainly.”
Summoned, thinks Ned to himself, by a queen…
Ned looks to the Erdtree and its golden rays. An inchoate fear builds within his belly, but what can be done? He is alone in the forest with nothing by which to navigate. This guidance is all he has.
“I thank you Varré, I will not disturb your hunting further,” says Ned. He returns the knife to the masked man.
“Keep it,” says Varré, “I see you are without means to defend yourself.”
Ned takes note for the first time of his dress. He is without proper armor and without his sword. Instead he wears the fine doublet of grey and white with black boots, the garb he wore during his time as Hand of the King, that he wore on that day he was ordered to die.
“Return it when you find something more worthy of a man of your stature,” says Varré.
“You are most kind, friend Varré,” says Ned, “but how will I find you again?”
“Do not worry,” says Varré, “I am sure we will meet again.”
With the steady pace of his steps under him Ned’s thoughts begin to calm. The lands of this place remind him of the barrowlands with its green plains and groves, but in the place of barrows here there are giant stone blocks and archways of the kind Ned saw on the beach, half buried in the earth and host to mosses and flowering weeds. Even shattered this way, many of these ruins stand as tall as the walls of Winterfell.
Ned makes his way toward the ruined church he first saw in a daze of surreality. His thoughts race once again: if I am here, what goes on back there? Back in King’s Landing, back with Sansa? With Arya? Who is this Queen Marika and why has she summoned him? And if she can transport me here - can she transport me back?
Standing before the ruined church he sees a tall wooden pole with some kind of carving near its top. As he approaches - to his horror - he realizes the thing is a human body: a man, perhaps a soldier, crucified at the top of a tall stake, his wrists nailed to a sickle shaped cross beam. Whatever his crime it must have been committed long ago, for the corpse is desiccated and in the place of its eyes there are now only dark empty sockets.
Another dead man, thinks Ned to himself.
The church is missing much of its roof and its two side walls such that it appears split in two. Inside Ned can see a crackling campfire, besides which sits a figure in red and white fiddling with what appears to be some kind of bow. A mule or pony meanders within as well, chewing on the grasses that have invaded the church’s ruins.
“Hail,” says Ned hesitantly.
The figure in red and white looks up from their work. They wear a red hat and their face is obscured by a cloth mask in the style of a highwayman.
“Hrmm,” says the figure in red and white, “...Tarnished. Yes, I can see it. And I can also see…that you are not after my throat.”
“You see true,” says Ned.
Ned can see a smile rise up to the man’s eyes. He notes now how they appear yellow and orange in color and how his skin has a greyish cast to it.
“I am Kalé, purveyor of fine goods,” says the figure in red and white, “perhaps you’d be interested in purchasing something, my good Tarnished?”
“I am Eddard Stark,” says Ned. Then: “Kalé, why do you call me this - Tarnished?”
“That is what you are, is it not?” asks Kalé.
“I do not know,” says Ned, “what is Tarnished?”
“What is Tarnished?” asks Kalé, “hrmm.”
Kalé gives Ned a curious look.
“A Tarnished is one who had their grace taken by Queen Marika, and who has now been summoned back to the Lands Between,” says Kalé.
“And I am Tarnished,” says Ned.
“Yes."
“Are you?” asks Ned.
“No, I am of a nomadic people. Selling wares as I go. This land has been tainted by madness ever since the Shattering - it’s only Tarnished like yourself that keep things from drying up entirely. Let’s say you are a welcome customer.”
“But I recall none of this,” says Ned, “none of this grace, this Queen, this land.”
Ned stands waiting for some answer or explanation from this man but Kalé only looks at him for a moment and shrugs.
“Well, if you have need,” says Kalé, “I have many things on offer.”
“I’ve no coin,” says Ned.
“No matter, I do not take coins,” says Kalé, “I take runes.”
Runes?, thinks Ned to himself.
“I’ve none of those either,” says Ned.
“Hrmm,” says Kalé, “yes, you are less equipped than most Tarnished I have seen.”
“Have others come through this way?” asks Ned.
“Countless,” says Kalé, “all seeking the same thing.”
Ned looks at him expectantly.
“The Goddess of course,” says Kalé, “Queen Marika.”
“Yes,” says Ned, “I have been told she will have answers.”
“Oh yes,” says Kalé, “I am sure she has many answers. But only you Tarnished have any chance of finding her I imagine.”
Kalé, having realized this man will not be making any purchases, returns to fiddling with his bow. After a moment he is done, at which point Ned realizes Kalé’s bow is not a weapon but a musical instrument, and Kalé begins playing a simple, somber tune.
Goddess Marika, Ned thinks to himself. It’s at this moment he takes a closer look around himself, in this church, and notices a faint shimmer of golden light hanging in the air like a haze, a line of it heading out of the church’s broken wall and toward a forest in the near distance. The light originates from a spot on the floor amongst the dirt in a patch where the church floor’s ancient tiles are missing. A small and frail collection of pale roots appears to be rising from the ground like thin fingers, above which hovers a tiny light, like a golden white flame.
Ned returns his gaze to the golden white flame. Like a fire it has a low hypnotic effect, but its heat is more measured, warm, comforting even. He follows the line of golden light into the nearby forest, and then looks up at the Erdtree. This is his lot then: to follow his summons and hope that this Marika will extend mercy to him.
“You said others had come through this way,” says Ned, “other Tarnished, all of them searching for the Queen. How many have found her?”
Kalé chuckles.
“None."