After Arya left the room, Ned took the chair and sat in front of Edward. He studied the man before speaking.
"Edward, I'm sure you would rather rest, but I need to ask you a few more questions."
Edward gave a small nod of acknowledgment.
Ned leaned forward slightly. "Let's start from the beginning. My name is Eddard Stark. I am the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, in the continent of Westeros." He let that information settle before continuing. "Now you—who are you?"
Edward remained silent for a moment before answering, "Edward..." He hesitated briefly before adding, "Sinclair, a mercenary."
Ned studied him carefully before nodding. "Alright, Edward. Tell me—how did you end up in the godswood?"
Edward exhaled before replying, "I was attacked while passing through."
Ned observed him for a long moment, his sharp gaze assessing the truth in his words. Finally, he stood up. "Well then, Edward. That is all I need to know for now."
As Ned turned to leave, Edward spoke up. "My weapons. I need them back."
Ned glanced over his shoulder, considering the request. "You can have them in the morning."
Edward's brow furrowed slightly. "I'd rather have them now. A man without his weapons is vulnerable."
Ned's gaze hardened. "A man without trust is even more vulnerable. Rest for now, Edward. Your weapons will be returned when I see fit."
With that, he turned and left the room, followed by Maester Luwin. As they stepped into the corridor, Ned paused for a moment, glancing back at the closed door before continuing down the hall.
As they walked, Luwin broke the silence. "My lord, do you believe he was telling the truth?"
Ned exhaled, his expression unreadable. "Perhaps. A man in his position has reason to lie. But if he was attacked, I want to know by whom—and why." He glanced at Luwin. "Send some men to the godswood in the morning. Have them search the area. If there was a fight, there will be signs."
Luwin nodded. "At once, my lord."
They continued walking before Luwin spoke again. "It is strange, my lord. A lone mercenary found wounded in the godswood? If he was attacked, why did his assailants leave him alive? And if he is lying, what could his true purpose be?"
Ned frowned. "Those are the questions that trouble me. If someone intended to kill him, they failed—or chose not to finish the job. That suggests either hesitation or a message. Either way, it is concerning."
Luwin sighed. "There have been no reports of bandits in the area. If an attack took place, it was planned."
"Aye," Ned agreed. "And that is what worries me. If someone wanted him dead, they would have finished the job. If they wanted him found, the question is—why?"
Luwin hesitated before asking, "Should we inform Lady Stark?"
Ned shook his head. "Not yet. Until we know more, there is no reason to cause unnecessary worry. But I want extra guards posted."
"Of course, my lord."
They reached the stairwell, and Ned stopped, looking out a nearby window. The godswood stood silent, its ancient heart tree watching over the land as it had for centuries. Whatever had happened there, Ned intended to find out.
"Tomorrow, we will have answers," he murmured, more to himself than to Luwin.
The Maester inclined his head. "We can only hope, my lord."
With that, Ned turned and continued to his chambers, his mind weighed down with yet another mystery.
They reached the stairwell, and Ned stopped, looking out a nearby window. The godswood stood silent, its ancient heart tree watching over the land as it had for centuries. Whatever had happened there, Ned intended to find out.
"Tomorrow, we will have answers," he murmured, more to himself than to Luwin.
The Maester inclined his head. "We can only hope, my lord."
With that, Ned turned and continued to his chambers, his mind weighed down with yet another mystery.
Meanwhile, Edward sat on the bed, deep in thought, replaying his conversation with Ned Stark. The Warden of the North had probed him with questions about his origins, and while Edward had provided some details, he had been careful to keep certain truths hidden. The less complicated things were, the better.
However, one particular detail had stuck with him—the name Stark. It had seemed familiar at first, but it wasn't until Ned mentioned Westeros that everything finally clicked into place.
"Westeros..." Edward muttered under his breath, his mind racing. The realization hit him like a cold wave. Somehow, impossibly, he had traveled into the world of Game of Thrones. The problem? He had only watched two episodes of the show. His knowledge of the realm was limited at best, and that made his situation all the more dangerous. Yet, that wasn't the worst of it—this world's conflicts weren't his concern.
Another pressing issue gnawed at him—he needed to return to the forest. The bastard he had been tracking still had the Piece of Eden, and if Edward didn't retrieve it soon, it could spell disaster. The artifact was far too powerful to be left in unknown hands. He had to move fast.
He stood up, rolling his shoulders and stretching his stiff muscles. He was only in pants, as Ned had taken his assassin robe along with his weapons. All he had was his hidden blade in his hand, which they had been unable to take and had decided to leave as it was.
The room was dimly lit, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows across the walls. He walked toward the window, glancing outside to gauge his route. The air was crisp, the castle grounds bathed in moonlight. It was time to move.
With a deep breath, Edward leaped onto the window ledge, crouching as he peered below. The drop was steep, but nothing he hadn't handled before. He reached for the outer wall, his fingers expertly finding the cold stone crevices. With practiced ease, he began to climb, his movements fluid and precise. Each handhold was carefully chosen, his grip unyielding against the winter chill.
As he reached the rooftop, he crouched low, his keen eyes scanning the area. The night was clear, the stars shining brightly above. Below, guards patrolled the castle grounds, but their numbers were too few to pose a real threat. He had seen far worse security in his time.
Edward took a silent breath before dashing forward, his movements swift and ghost-like. His boots barely made a sound as he sprinted across the rooftops. Every step was calculated, his balance perfect. He leaped from one building to another, his form blending into the darkness, moving like a shadow over the stronghold of Winterfell.
"I need to get over that wall," he muttered to himself as he neared the perimeter of Winterfell.
A few moments later, he reached the outer wall. He crouched behind a stack of barrels as a pair of guards passed by, speaking in hushed tones.
"Lord Stark wants extra men at the gates. He thinks something's off tonight," one of them said.
"Aye, but it's quiet as ever," the other guard replied. "Nothing but the wind and our own breath."
Edward smirked. You should trust your Lord more.
As soon as they moved past, he bolted toward the wall, scaling it quickly. Upon reaching the top, he glanced back at the castle. "Sorry, Stark. I've got my own mission."
Then he jumped, landing smoothly on the other side. His feet barely touched the snowy ground before he started running toward the forest, his heart pounding with urgency. The night was still, but Edward knew danger lurked ahead. The Piece of Eden was out there, and he would stop at nothing to get it back.
As he ran, his thoughts drifted to his past—a life more complicated than anyone could imagine. He had once been an ordinary gamer, deeply immersed in the Assassin's Creed series. But fate had other plans. One moment, he was playing, and the next, he found himself reborn into a different world—the 19th century.
For a while, he lived a peaceful life with his family, but tragedy struck when they were brutally murdered by a man named Lucius Vanheim. Edward was the sole survivor. Alone and consumed by vengeance, he was soon discovered by the Assassin Brotherhood. It was then that he realized he had been reborn in the Assassin's Creed universe.
Taken in by the Brotherhood, Edward trained under some of the greatest Assassins of his time—Master Assassin Darius Faulkner, the silent and deadly Xia Liang, and the strategic genius Rafael Cortez. Under their guidance, he honed his skills, transforming into one of the deadliest Assassins the Brotherhood had ever known.
Years later, Edward finally found a trail leading to Lucius. His pursuit led him to an ancient Precursor site, where Lucius managed to obtain a Piece of Eden—the Eye of Eternity. With its power, Lucius opened a portal to another timeline, seeking to gather more Pieces of Eden.
Without hesitation, Edward followed, unaware that jumping through would send him on a wild chase across different timelines.
Each world was a new challenge, each era bringing him face-to-face with legendary Assassins. He fought alongside Altair, learned the art of stealth from Ezio, survived the American Revolution with Connor, and adapted to the pirate ways of Edward Kenway. Every journey made him stronger, every battle refined his skills.
Edward finally got his chance when Lucius arrived at a Precursor site in Japan during the events of Assassin's Creed Shadows. Seizing the opportunity, Edward ambushed him, triggering a full-scale battle. The fight raged through the ancient ruins, both warriors pushing themselves to the limit.
By the end, Lucius had managed to seize the artifact—only for it to disintegrate the moment he touched it. The site's hidden mechanisms activated, causing the entire structure to collapse. Realizing the danger, Lucius opened a portal in a desperate attempt to escape. In that moment, Edward struck a decisive blow, fatally wounding him. As the ruins crumbled around them, both warriors fell into the portal.
Now, Edward had ended up here—which meant Lucius was here as well.
Stepping into the forest, Edward kept his senses razor-sharp, scanning the darkness for any sign of his enemy. The cold gnawed at his exposed skin, but he ignored it, his focus locked onto the barely visible trail ahead. Faint footprints, illuminated by the pale moonlight, led him deeper into the trees, guiding him toward the sound of rushing water.
The gurgling of a nearby stream filled the otherwise silent night, a soft whisper beneath the crunch of snow under his boots.
Lucius was close. Edward could feel it.
As he neared the bank, something in the water caught his eye. A shape, unmoving, lodged against a fallen tree. Edward's breath came slow and steady as he approached, one hand instinctively hovering near the hilt of his hidden blade. He nudged the body with his boot, turning it over to reveal the pale, lifeless face of Lucius Vanhiem.
For a long moment, he simply stared. After years of pursuit, years of tracking and bloodshed, was this really how it ended? No final battle, no whispered curses or desperate last words—just a body, limp and waterlogged, stripped of all fight. It felt... hollow.
Edward crouched beside the corpse, shaking his head. "You cheated me, Vanhiem," he muttered. "After everything, you die like this?"
Silence answered him. The bitter wind howled through the trees, and the stream carried on its endless journey, indifferent to the end of the man who had sought to rewrite history.
Pushing aside the unsettling lack of closure, Edward rifled through Lucius's soaked pockets, ran his fingers along the seams of his cloak, checking for hidden compartments. Nothing.
He exhaled sharply. "Where is it?"
Then, his eyes caught something in the snow—tracks. More than one set, leading away from the stream. Someone had found Lucius first. Someone had taken the Eye of Eternity and left the body behind like discarded carrion.
"Of course," Edward muttered. He ran a gloved hand down his face, wiping away the cold sting of the wind. "Nothing is ever simple."
He stood, glancing back at Lucius's corpse. Whatever their enmity, the man had deserved more than to be left to rot in the ice. He moved swiftly, gathering dry branches from beneath the thick trees, stacking them over the lifeless form. Striking a flint against his blade, he sparked a small flame, then fed it until fire consumed the kindling. The flames grew, crackling and licking at the fabric, the flesh. The acrid scent of burning filled the air as embers drifted into the night sky.
Edward watched for only a moment longer.
"Rest in hell, Lucius," he murmured, before turning away.
There was no time for lingering. The tracks in the snow were fresh, leading deeper into the dense forest. Whoever had taken the artifact was not far ahead. Pulling his cloak tighter around him, Edward followed, moving like a shadow through the trees, his every step silent, his every breath measured.
The hunt was not over yet.