Eddard didn't know where he was. All around him was chaos. Men were dying, killed by dead men. He saw a massive direwolf obliterate the undead as it rampaged, but the men weren't so successful.

Men were dying left and right, being burned as it happened, but not quick enough, they rose up and attacked their comrades again.

King Robert was there, standing side by side with the Blackfish as they faced off against an Other. A circle was cleared around them, the undead seemed to let the Others do their own thing.

"Hold the DAMNED LINE" roared his father, Lord Jaime Lannister, the Lion of the West, as he tried desperately to keep his men in order. If they broke then it was all lost, all for nothing. And then disaster struck.

The Night King himself had appeared. He walked almost serenely through the ranks of his undead horde as they parted ways for him... heading straight to father.

The Night King was getting closer. Wasn't someone going to stop him? They had defeated him. They had killed him. Hadn't they? Jaime locked eyes with the Night King and the color drained from his face. Eddard could see him take a deep breath, the fighting around him and the leader of the Others had stopped as the undead were driven by his will and the living by some need to watch whatever was going to happen. He brought up Brightroar, the ancestral sword of his house recently brought back, and stood his ground, an unyielding wall.

The Night King then spoke, in a voice that cut through the air like a knife and made the living cover their ears. But father was undeterred, even as Eddard could practically feel Jaime's heart pounding.

"You wield the Lion sword." He looked at him disdainfully "Your ancestor held it better than you."

Jaime said nothing.

He knew his father was one of, if not the best fighters in Westeros, he had seen him fight... but nothing he had ever seen prepared him for what he was about to witness. With Brightroar, Jaime was unstoppable, sword and man were one.

The Night King slowly lifted his own, crystal sword.

"Perish."

They clashed in a flurry of strikes. This wasn't a fight. This was a dance, the most beautiful, complex, disgusting and brutal dance the world had ever witnessed. And Jaime was losing.

Perhaps if he hadn't spent the past three days fighting the undead. Perhaps if he had slept more than an hour in the past month. Even then, it was a big perhaps. But it did not matter.

The Night King, after five solid minutes of bitter, beautiful ringing and clashing of steel on crystal, Jaime was blown backwards by a devastating blow as he desperately held Brightroar above him to block it. He fell to the ground ten feet from where he was struck down, Brightroar had fallen out of his grasp.

The Night King slowly advanced. The men were beginning to flee. If he could defeat Jaime Lannister, how could they hope to stand against him? Jaime reached desperately for his sword and slowly crawled to it. The Night King raised his sword.

"Die."

Eddard tried to scream. Tried to yell anything.

But he wasn't the one who had any effect on it.

Lord Eddard Stark, his namesake, barely caught the Night King's sword with his massive greatsword before it hit father. Two of the Others, probably the most senior of them, and the only ones to be seen, advanced to join the Night King. The Night King was, seemingly, shocked, as he recoiled and seemed to hiss.

"Ice."

Jaime rose, Brightroar in his grasp, exhausted, but standing. Behind them, the Blackfish, King Robert, Robb Stark, a man with black hair and roguish features he didn't know, and Ser Garlan Tyrell advanced to join them.

Lord Stark muttered, "They were seven against three."

He spoke louder. "Now it ends."

21 years later

Eddard Lannister woke with a start, icy sweat drenching him. Who let the fires die out? No matter. He had to do something to get the Night King's voice out of his head. He rose from bed slowly, wearily, and relit the fire. Soon enough, it was roaring again. Just as it should be. From here, his bedchambers at the outer edge of the Rock by the sea, it could get cold terribly fast. He should sleep in Lannisport more often, he'd have to go there everyday anyways for the Council meetings. No matter.

For now, the sun was beginning to rise, he thought at least. He got dressed as quickly as he could, a black and gold leather coat, with a red and cloth-of-gold sash draped over his left shoulder. He had to look halfway decent today. Supposedly, the King had sent an Envoy to the Rock some few days ago, and was expected to arrive today. Why he couldn't have just sent a raven? Who knew. But it didn't matter, the King was a good lad, and it was probably actually from Lord Seaworth, the Lord Regent and Hand of the King, anyways.

He walked down the stairs of the Rock, of which there were many, until he finally reached the courtyard and the Great Hall. He broke his fast with his family before he left.

"Ah, good morning Ned, love. Pass the butter would you?"

He did so. "Good morning mother. Uncle Tyrion, it's been some time since we've had an update on the progress of the city, any news?"

"What?" The Imp looked up from his apparently disappointing bowl of porridge. "Oh, yes, straight to business. The foundations for the new walls have been finished and the roads are complete, now we just need buildings and people. And wine, Sansa, would you kindly?" Mother complied with a roll of her eyes.

It was then that his twin brother, Damon, and their great uncle Kevan arrived, arguing about how effective Braavosi swords were.

"I'm telling you Kev, you'd take one swing and they'd snap in two, three, a dozen pieces."

'Kev' smacked him on the back of the head. "It's Kevan, or Uncle. And you don't swing the damn things, you stab. Stab." They reached the table and he grabbed a knife. "Like th-"

Mother interrupted, "No! Uncle Kevan please!"

"I wasn't going to stab the boy, just demonstrate." He demonstrated.

"Two and eighty and I swear you get younger every day, Uncle" said Tyrion, still looking sadly at his porridge.

"Morning Ned." said Damon, "you sleep?"

"Not much. Working terribly busily you see."

"Naturally"

"Of course"

"To be sure"

...

"Nightmare?"

Seven hells.

His face must have given something away in his reaction because he suddenly grinned triumphantly.

He slid a copper his way,

It didn't mean anything, the copper that is, they were Lannisters after all. But they'd begun it when they were twelve, six years previous. If one of them could "read" something "like that" off of the other one, they got a copper. The terms of the arrangement were vague.

"How goes the Bank, Uncle Kevan?"

"We're still rich boy, does it matter?"

He had a point. But he gave him a look anyway as he ate his porridge.

"It's never been better. With the Iron Bank becoming official partners, we have a lot more pull in the Free Cities and free reign in all of Westeros. Lord Arryn just took out the biggest loan we've ever given outside of the Throne."

"Excellent."

The Bank of Lannisport. Sometimes derogatorily called the Western Iron Bank, was the brainchild of Kevan, Tyrion and Ned himself. Once the new mines opened ten years prior, they were effectively limitless in funding and they'd capitalized on that massively. Lannisport was expanding rapidly, which was only a good thing. After years of negotiations, they'd earned the officially backing of the Iron Bank, and Braavos agreed to effectively stay out of Westeros, besides the Throne itself, which was fair game for both of them.

As they finished breakfast with various talk of other things, Ned began to grow drowsy. But there was time for sleep later, he had a meeting with the most powerful people in the Westerlands. The Council of the West.