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Sean Bean Saves Westeros - Book 1: Sean Lends a Hand by High Plains Drifter
 A song of Ice and Fire & Game of Thrones Xover Rated: M, English, Adventure, Eddard S./Ned, Eddard S., Words: 109k+, Favs: 1k+, Follows: 737, Published: Jul 22, 2014 Updated: Feb 1, 2015  423Chapter 15
Sean chanced a look up at the clock, the ball now about midfield on the far side of the pitch, a minute of injury time already expired. "Ouch," he grunted, watching Nick take a tumble, the longtime Blades centre mid hipped hard by the charging red jerseyed left winger. "Shite." No penalty gesture by the grey clad ref.
The heavily muscled forward from Crakehall launched a deft centering pass, the receiving red shirt taking it on the thigh and letting it drop to his foot. A neat nudge to the left by the copper haired striker on loan to the Lions from Ashemark pushed the red-gold striped ball just past the fullback. "C'mon, Lowton!" Sean yelled at the youngest Blades defender.
Anger quickly surged to elation, as the Blades' captain, Chris Morgan, all thirteen stone of him slid in to knock the ball away from Marbrand and upend the too smooth corker. "Yes," the ref's staff didn't wave, at least the old tosser was non-calling the penalties fairly. Sean started to back pedal, looking side to side to spot the nearest defenders.
The ball rolled past a Casterly Rock mid, who only got a toe on it, knocking it straight toward a sprinting Andy. The Blades fullback snagged the ball barely having to break stride. A red jerseyed Lion surged up into his front and the defender niftily lined a low pass to his right, at the forward moving Quinn. The flaming haired Irishman drove the ball over the midfield line. Sean broke left and headed toward the goal on the far side of the pitch from his charging fellow Blades, hoping to catch his end of the Lion's back four ball watching.
Lions converged near Stephen Quinn and the mid blooped one over their heads at the talented, but injury prone Darius Henderson, who didn't even let the red-gold ball hit the ground. The Blades dangerous striker swung out his foot and crossed it over the front of the box, aimed out in front of Sean.
The Sheffield Man dug hard, feeling his cleats digging hard into the thick grass, passing around the mountain of a Lion who was the only man between him and Casterly Rock's pretty boy goal keep. He stretched out a foot and … Wham!
Sean saw stars. He lifted his face out of the turf, rubbing chunks of grass away from his eyes. More stars. Ser Ian, grey robes flowing in the wind ran forward, staff held high; blue, green, and red sparks shooting out to indicate a penalty. Then the wizard stopped in front of the Mountain that had leveled Sean in the act of shooting. The gnarled wood of Ser Ian's staff stopped firing stars and traced a square in the air, which immediately turned red.
"Fuck that!" bellowed Gregor Clegane, steaming at having been sent off by the grey clad referee.
Ser Ian serenely walked away, going to pick up the red-gold striped ball while waving at Sean to pick himself and come take a penalty kick. The Mountain moved to follow the wizard, causing both linesmen to run over and cut him off. Daragh in a green coat and Brad in a plumed bronze helmet grabbed Clegane's massive arms and walked him backward toward the Casterly Rock bench and a screaming Cersei who looked surprisingly fetching in a three piece suit.
The lad from Sheffield slowly stood up. His head ached. Darius and Mark and Stephen and Chris and Andy all came up and slapped him on the back and shoulders, shouting words of encouragement at him. But he couldn't hear a thing between the ringing in his ears and the deafening cries of the United fans filling the King's Landing tourney grounds. "I'm good. I'm good," he muttered.
Sean reached the penalty spot in the middle of the box. Ser Ian placed the ball in front of him. He looked down at the mostly round shaped object, ignoring how the golden boy in the net was setting up while debating whether to shoot left or right. The stern face of Tywin Lannister stared back up at him, and then the red and gold striped head's left eye winked mischievously at him. 'Oh, it's Charles,' he thought. And with that he took two quick steps forward and belted one to the left.
Jaime Lannister dove, but the chopped off head rose on a steady, straight line, passing just above the Kingslayer's outstretched arms.
"GOAL!"
The ending horn blew.
"One hundred percent Blades!" Sean yelled as he found himself swarmed by his screaming mates. The Blades had just won the WA Cup, defeating the Casterly Rock Lions by the score of three to two. Sheffield United was the Westeros Association Challenge champions.
Not Ned moaned. His head felt liked it'd been run over by a lorry. His tongue clove to the top of a very dry mouth. Well he wasn't completely sure, but he suspected it was his mouth. Whatever it was it didn't taste good. He rolled over, flinging out an arm to steady himself, just in case the ground was moving. 'No, not moving,' he reassured himself after a minute. Something didn't feel right. Something was missing. His arm started probing around the pile of hides and blankets on which he uncomfortably rested. "Oh, that's it," he mumbled. 'No Cat', he realized.
Time passed.
He stared at the roof of the tent.
Finally he noted that sunlight illuminated the sheeting of the tent top.
"Boy, did I get gassed," he muttered. Scenes from last night started to trickle through his pounding nob. Adrenaline cut through some of his haze. "Bollocks!" he swore. "Hope I didn't bugger things. Stay on script next time Sean old son."
"Are you alive, my lord?" called that sweet not Michelle voice from somewhere outside.
"Arg," he gargled in reply.
A light laugh answered him. The tent flap moved. "I've brought tea," Cat announced.
"Bloody good," he said expectantly. The promise of a cuppa, made Sean sit up, regardless of the renewed pounding of horse hooves in his skull. When things cleared, he saw his lady wife holding a steaming mug and gazing at him with that 'look' he well remembered. Four wives will teach a bit of body language, and it appeared this look was universal to both Westeros and home; love tinged with a hint of disappointment. The impossible part for Sean was keeping the look from turning into disappointment tinged with a hint of love. 'Then, you're fuck all,' he thought.
"Ahem," he cleared his throat. "I take it nothing of importance has happened," he said with embarrassment.
"No, my lord," she answered with an amused glint. "Ser Olyvar told me that fires broke out in the city over night."
Fear instantly leapt to not Ned's face. "Not wildfire?" he choked out.
Cat laughed softly. "We'd have woken you through your snores for that, Ned. Just rioting we suspect. My uncle says it may be a sign that the city is turning on the Lannisters. He thinks tonight might be a good time to bribe one of the gates."
Sean let out a small sigh of relief. "Yes, it might be," he agreed. "I think Ser Jacelyn is the best wager there. I knew him a bit during the Greyjoy rebellion, you know. Though I wish he commanded other than the Mud Gate. Hard to sneak a large enough force through the wharfs unseen," he rambled.
Cat at last offered him the mug of tea.
He eyed the tea. He eyed his wife. None of his wives would ever claim apologies came easy to Sean, but he never needed any of them as desperately as he needed this one. "I'm sorry Cat," he murmured. Her eyebrows raised in surprise. 'Maybe old Ned wasn't good at apologizing either,' he thought. "Last night," he continued softly. "I spoke ill. I acted unbecoming of a lord and a knight. I wrongly disparaged honor. My honor. Our family's honor. Your honor. Forgive me."
Not Michelle's face crumpled. "Ned, no Ned," she warbled. The mug of tea dropped out of her shaking hand.
'Damn, I needed that.'
Cat launched herself into his arms.
"Ooof," he croaked, getting knocked over.
"Hang honor," she sniffled. "I was so scared, Ned. Wh … wh … when …"
"I lost my head?" he snickered.
Her beautiful blue eyes practically exploded out of her face. "Nooo. I … I …
"It's alright," Sean reassured her. "You can say it."
She clasped a hand over her mouth a moment before bursting, "Seven save me, Eddard Stark, yes, it's true."
"And?" he prodded gently, drawing her face down into the crook of his neck.
"I stopped caring about honor too. I … I … didn't even care about avenging you, Ned. Though I'd scratch Cersei's eyes out if I ever saw her, the bitch," Cat spluttered.
'Meow. Now that would be a cat fight I'd pay a bob to see!' Sean thought as he gently stroked her hair.
"But … but all I cared about was keeping Robb alive. Getting Sansa and Arya home safe, to Winterfell. I'd have sacrificed anything for the fighting and killing to stop Ned. Anything," she cried, tears dripping off her cheeks on to not Ned's skin. "I was thrilled last night, when you spoke of family and children as more important than damned honor. But I was scared too. Too scared to agree with you in front of the others. And scared for you, and what … how you've changed; you're the most honorable man I've ever known. Oh Ned, Ned, what's happened to us."
"Shhhh," Sean whispered softly in her ear, wishing for an easy answer, but not having a script at hand. The actor wracked his brain for a good quote, 'Better to die ten thousand deaths, than wound my honor? Sod off Addison! If I lose my honor I lose myself? Tosh Shakespeare. Honor is purchased by the deeds we do? Bugger that Marlowe. What would George say?' Then the answer leapt to him and a smile split his face. "Family, Duty, Honor," he murmured.
"What?" Cat asked through her sniffles, hearing her husband say the Tully motto.
"Family, Duty, Honor," not Ned repeated. "I think you might be familiar with those words. And you may have noticed, 'Family' comes first. So I don't think the Others will take you for caring about your children before your honor."
And with that he felt the tension start to ease out of his not wife.
After a few minutes of tender, silent snuggling, not Michelle chirped, "Thank you Ned."
He kissed the top of her head in response. 'How soon before I can get a cuppa,' he wondered.
"Ned?" she asked hesitantly.
'What now?' "Hhhmmmn?"
"Robb and Arya talked to me this morning. They're worried that you've changed too."
'Jesus!'
"Three of them, my lord," Olyvar announced.
Sean squinted into the distance. "I don't see a white cloak. Any guesses on who our guests might be?" 'Lenses,' he thought. His eyes weren't getting any younger; one more modern improvement to add to his already quite full mental checklist.
"Lord Rosby, I believe, my lord," Robb said.
"Ah, our consumptive friend of yesterday. This might prove interesting. I think I'll let the Kingslayer deal with him if I don't like what I hear"
And when the trio refused Galbart Glover's entreaties to pass through the siege line and enter the Northern's camp, Sean took it upon himself to make amends for his ill treatment of the last Lannister ambassadors and walked out to meet them. "Lord Gyles, a pleasant surprise to see you again. And who may I ask has the pleasure of joining you here today?"
The perpetually hacking lord mixed a perplexed look with his mandatory rattling of phlegm. Cough. Cough. "My Lord Stark, surely you remember …" Cough. "… young Lord Lancel and Lord Slynt?"
'Oh-ho. This will be fun.' "Of course they are," not Ned affably agreed. "You must forgive me Lord Gyles, I fear I've grown horrible remembering which name belongs with which head since Ser Ilyn shaved off my own."
The Lord of Rosby didn't know how to respond to that little jab and simply smiled uncomfortably between hacks in response.
"Lord Slynt."
"Lord Stark," the butcher's son replied.
"I hope you found the payment for betraying me to your satisfaction," Sean teased. "Harrenhal, wasn't it?"
"Joffrey is the rightful King, there was no betrayal, only justice for a traitor," the jowly bald man declared self-righteously.
"Be sure to keep telling yourself that, Lord Slynt, when Stannis Baratheon sits on the Iron Throne," Sean laughed. "I'm sure his mercy will equal, or even exceed, that shown by Joffrey."
"Harrumph."
Not Ned turned toward the last member of the party. "Lord Lancel, such a long time since dear Robert sent you scurrying across the tourney grounds in search of a plate spreader for his armor. Tasted any good wines lately? Robert surely loved his wine, didn't he?"
The petulant teen scowled, but refrained from responding to the taunts.
"Now that I've charmed you all, tell me why have you come? I don't see my daughter or either of Lord Varys or Lord Baelish. For the Kingslayer's sake, I hope Cersei has agreed to meet my demands."
Cough. Cough. "The Queen, though she loves her brother, …"
'And doesn't she though?' he thought mockingly.
"… believes your price too steep. The Lords are trusted members of her own …" Cough. "… Small Council. She will offer you Lord Baelish and your daughter Sansa in exchange for …" Cough. "… her brother," Rosby droned between periodic interruptions.
Sean laughed. "So the Eunuch has escaped the web? How pathetic."
"Not so!" blustered Janos Slynt.
"Then you admit to having both noble Sers cooped up in the Red Keep?"
"No one is cooped anywhere, Stark," Lancel Lannister complained bitterly.
"Tsk. Tsk. How foolish of your sweet, sweet cuz, eh Lancel?" not Ned chortled. "Well, in that case, I reject Cersei's counter proposal. But I'll let you take a trinket of the Kingslayer's back to his sister as proof of how serious I am. Greatjon! Lord Roose!"
"Yes, my lord?" "Yes, my lord?"
"Bring me Ser Jaime and a sharp knife."
"My lord …" Cough. "… is this necessary?" Lord Gyles wheezed.
"Absolutely."
"He is your honorable prisoner," Janos Slynt protested.
"A knight who throws small children out of windows has no honor. Neither does one who shags his own sister. Since we're talking about the same fine fellow in both instances, I will treat him no better than the dog he is," not Ned explained. "Now since he is your cousin, Lord Lancel, I'll let you choose which finger he loses first. I'd suggest his non-sword hand." 'I wonder which one he wanks with?'
"My L … l … lord Stark," Lancel stuttered. "This is wrong. The Seven will curse your soul."
"Like they did at Baelor's Sept, when Joffrey took my head? Well the Old Gods seem to have a different plan for me, don't they? Let's see if the Seven can restore your cousin's finger. Jon, make the cur heel. Roose, stand on his hand. I wouldn't want it shaking so much I take off more than I promised."
Jaime Lannister struggled mightily against the unchained giant's grip on him, but to no avail. The Young Lion soon found himself sprawled in the mud and muck, the Greatjon sitting forcefully on his back on shoulders. Immediately, the Leech Lord placed a boot down on the Kingslayer's non sword wrist.
"A knife, Lord Roose? A flaying one, if you please?" Sean asked, his stomach turning at the possibility his bluff wouldn't be called.
A faint smile appeared on Bolton's pale lips as he pulled out a thin skinning blade.
"Cousin," the Kingslayer pleaded when not Ned accepted the sharp edged piece of metal.
Sean began to squat.
"Lord Stark!" Lancel whined.
The actor stopped and looked up at the blonde haired teen. 'Have you been end away with Cersei yet, boy?' He sighed. "Well since you refused to choose which finger, Lancel, I'll have to pick one myself. Lord Roose, would you mind stepping on the Kingslayer's sword hand? Without a thumb, his blade won't be much use to his sister."
Again the Young Lion struggled desperately, trying to tuck his right arm beneath his body, but he was no match for the Greatjon's strength.
Crunch. Roose Bolton's boot came down heavily, trapping the other hand.
"Cousin!" Jaime Lannister begged.
"Lord Stark!" both the toad Janos Slynt and the asthmatic Gyles Rosby cried.
Sean ignored their appeals and knelt to the ground, placing the thin blade at the base of the Kingslayer's thumb. He pressed lightly, breaking the skin enough for red to seep out. 'Hope I don't heave,' he prayed.
"Alright! Alright! We'll bring them both! I swear it!" Lancel screamed.
Sean looked up. Tepid disappointment showed on Bolton's face while a big shit eating grin spread across the Greatjon's. He lifted the knife. "Do you promise to remain here as a hostage against your cousin's behavior, until the exchange is made for my daughter and both Lords Varys and Baelish?"
Lancel nodded his head briskly.
"Thank you," the Kingslayer said with a shudder.
"Good. So please get off your mount, Ser." As Lancel hopped down, Sean stood up and turned to the other two lordlings. "I give you two hours. Now be off!"
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