Reilly couldn't suppress a flinch, both at the man's grisly appearance and at his name. This was Catelyn's husband. She would have her family back together.
Really, he should be much happier for her than he was. Mainly he hoped with all his might that Catelyn hadn't found the secret he left on the Secrets Board, given this development.
"You are not dead, not here," he said to the man. "And you are certainly not useless. Maimed, yes, but the healers here can do amazing things."
((I'll be very slow in picking up tags, but I just had to get Reilly in here!))
"I had just been shot to death when I arrived here, myself," he replied levelly. "And I have a friend who was - in quite bad shape - when we met. The healers repaired far more of the damage than I'd have thought possible, given the state of medicine where I'm from."
He tilted his head. "But I forget my manners. Sidney Reilly, sir, at your service."
"It would seem we are companions in hell, ser," said Ned wryly. "I was not made for court and I danced ill to the Lannister woman's measure, so I have come directly from a dance with the headsman, as you see me. I am Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, and while we are ill met, Ser Sidney Reilly, I am pleased to make your acquaintance."
After the shock of Robb appearing, this was just too much. Since Arya was already shaken and not in the best emotional state, and since the last time she had "seen" her father was as a boggart, her reaction was not the most welcoming.
In a heartbeat, she had her wand out, pointing it at him, half-blinded by tears, and screamed "Riddikulus!"
The boggart in class hadn't talked. It had only glared and bled and pointed accusingly at her. Despite this, and the number of her dead family that she had previously encountered in the Sorting Room, she was still half convinced that this was an elaborate and cruel joke, if not a particularly clever boggart. "It's really you?" She lowered her wand an inch or two. "Prove it."
Ned cleared his throat -- a hideous sound, merely reflexive, as his throat could never properly be cleared -- and said brokenly:
"Do you remember the day I discovered you in possession of Needle? When I told you that you were the very likeness of Lyanna? You are even more so now." Then to himself, aside, in a whisper: "Gods, how long have I been dead, that she has grown so?"
Ned did not know how much time had elapsed between his beheading and now. In subjective time, no time had passed at all, for him. So he did not know whether Jon had heard what had befallen him, or how.
"I am sorry, my boy," he said. "I have always expected my sons to see justice done unflinching. I cannot expect you not to flinch from the sight of me now, for what was done was no justice."
Yoda couldn't help but be interested in this arrival. It wasn't often that one would meet someone carrying their own head apart from their body and still talking. "Hardly useless, the dead are!" he said. "Dead am I, and useless would you call me?" He looked up at the applicant (or rather, his head--Yoda was a big believer in looking someone straight in the eyes when you spoke with them. Or wherever it was appropriate to look, in eyeless species.) "Only a small barrier, death is. Though more eventful for some it is than others, it seems."
Though surprised, Ned appreciated this practical approach. He only wished he could in turn greet the small talking green shriveled creature with the same equanimity. He could not help but be taken aback by the creature's appearance and unusual manner of speech. "I beg your pardon, ser. I am unaccustomed to the ways of the dead, being but newly dead myself."
That got a rueful half-smile out of Ned. The look sat ill upon his disembodied visage. "The Starks of Winterfell have always been a gloomy breed, I'll grant you that. It's said the cold in the North is such that a man's laughter freezes in his throat and chokes him to death, so that we Starks have all learned to disavow a sense of humor, for our very lives. Tell me, ser, how might I see aught 'positive' in my beheading for a treason that was no treason at all, and the subsequent ruination of my family and my country?"
Tyrion knew he should just stay the hell away from the sorting room, after encountering Robb Stark. But this? This was so much worse. After all, what was one supposed to say in this situation? "Hello, by the way, I'm sorry my horrible brat nephew beheaded you." No, that was not going to work.
"Hello, Lord Stark," the imp said simply, remaining strategically close to the door.
"She would still like to, if she only could," Tyrion replied evenly. "I have been here the better part of the last year." He did not choosse to elaborate on the fact that Tywen Lannister was dead, or the fact that Tyrion was now married to Sansa.
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Really, he should be much happier for her than he was. Mainly he hoped with all his might that Catelyn hadn't found the secret he left on the Secrets Board, given this development.
"You are not dead, not here," he said to the man. "And you are certainly not useless. Maimed, yes, but the healers here can do amazing things."
((I'll be very slow in picking up tags, but I just had to get Reilly in here!))
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"What do you know of it, ser?" The words were as cold as the look.
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He tilted his head. "But I forget my manners. Sidney Reilly, sir, at your service."
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In a heartbeat, she had her wand out, pointing it at him, half-blinded by tears, and screamed "Riddikulus!"
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"Arya. Daughter. I know I am a fearful thing."
Gods be praised, she was alive and well, for varying values of 'well'. She was at least whole.
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"Do you remember the day I discovered you in possession of Needle? When I told you that you were the very likeness of Lyanna? You are even more so now." Then to himself, aside, in a whisper: "Gods, how long have I been dead, that she has grown so?"
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This, however, was a beast of a different nature.
Upon seeing the headless, somehow animated corpse of his father, Jon dropped to his knees in shock, saying nothing.
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"I am sorry, my boy," he said. "I have always expected my sons to see justice done unflinching. I cannot expect you not to flinch from the sight of me now, for what was done was no justice."
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After all, what was one supposed to say in this situation? "Hello, by the way, I'm sorry my horrible brat nephew beheaded you." No, that was not going to work.
"Hello, Lord Stark," the imp said simply, remaining strategically close to the door.
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"Tyrion Lannister," he returned evenly. "How come you to this place? Has your sister done for you as she did for me?"
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