The way things had dissolved, the man felt there was no one to blame but him. He had died. He had died of a mistake he had committed. He didn't even remember what it was that he did, or what had motivated him to do so. All he could remember was the sting of something piercing him, and then nothing. He wasn't sure how he died, nor did he remember who had killed him. He couldn't even remember who he was. He remembered nothing, other than the fact that he had died.

He heard the sound of wings flapping, but all he saw was darkness. The gentle chilling wind caressed his body before he felt something on his chest, something sharp that pierced his skin and scratched his bones. He felt the same sharpness on his forehead. But he felt no pain from it, he felt absolutely nothing but pressure.

What happened next began with a picture forming in his mind. It was somewhere he didn't know, and then he knew what it was the next moment, like a memory he had long forgotten but remembered all of a sudden. And then it was like a dam broke in his mind. More images burst through to his mind, more memories, and more instances of a life he knew weren't his but then believed they were.

Eventually, he felt the pressure leave him and felt something trickle down his forehead and chest. But they weren't trickling down, they were trickling up. He heard the sound of wings flapping once more and then he was suddenly in a cavern. Before him sat a pale skeletal figure, wearing rotted black clothing on a throne made from tangling tree roots. His skin is white, barring the red blotch on his neck and cheek. His fine white hair was long enough to reach the earthen floor. He was missing an eye, and his other one was crimson as blood. Roots surrounded the man and grew through his body, including his legs and his empty eye socket.

"You have many questions, I can tell" the man spoke, his voice sounding surprisingly strong and sturdy.

"I do" the man nodded. "Who am I? Where is this? Why am I here?" he asked.

"Who you were does not matter, not anymore" the man spoke, "who you are now is what matters. You have been chosen to be a piece in a game that determines the fate of a world, a world that is not yours. Who you used to be has died, and the old ones, the ones that have kept me alive past my mortal life are not happy with how I have done my duty" he went silent, his lone eye closing for a brief moment before reopening. "And so here you are."

"I don't understand. I died. You said it and I know it. Yet here I am. You say I was brought back as someone else, someone these 'old ones' want me to be. Who is this someone? Who are these old ones? And why did they choose me?"

"The Old Ones are gods of this world. Why they chose you, I know not. All I know is that my time has come. My watch shall end and yours shall begin. You will receive the boons I have. Use them wisely."

"But who am I?" the man asked, his voice panicked. "What do I do? What do the gods want?"

The skeletal figure stared at him in silence. Slowly he raised his hand and beckoned the man forward. The man moves forward and the skeletal figure put his hand on the man's head. Immediately the man fell to his knees and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. "You will know soon enough" was what the skeletal figure said as the light slowly left his singular crimson eye.

When sight had returned for the man, he was now stood in a throne room, a sword in hand and his body heavy from the armour he wore. Before him was an old man, very thin and gaunt, and dead, with long gold-silver hair, tangled beard and yellow fingernails that were a foot long. And on the throne sat a tall young and handsome man with curled hair the colour of beaten gold. When he looked up at him his green eyes seemed cloudy for just a moment, before they cleared.

"Lord Stark" the man spoke, slowly standing and an arrogant smile on his face.

"Ser Jaime" Ned Stark spoke, as all the images floating in his head finally clicked in place and made him aware of everything. He was Eddard Stark, second son of Rickard and Lyarra Stark. He had been fostered at the Eyrie alongside Robert Baratheon. Both men had been threatened with death by The Mad King when Ned's father and brother had come to the capital for Rhaegar who had kidnapped his sister Lyanna. There was a war and they were the rebel side. And they had won the war. But there were more that Ned remembered. More memories that made little sense to him. But then he remembered the skeletal man. If the rest of his memories were real, that had to be as well.

Ned walked around the fallen king, towards Ser Jaime who watched him critically. He sheathed his blade once he had reached the Kingsguard and the boy seemed to relax. "What happened?" Ned asked.

"I killed the mad King" Jaime answered smugly.

"Why? You were sworn to protect him. So why?" Ned asked and the smugness seemed to fall off his face. Jaime went to speak but before he could the sound of boots approaching made them look towards the door. It was Tywin Lannister, father of Ser Jaime and Lord of Casterly Rock. Behind him were his men, but two stood out amongst the rest. One was large, almost as big as Robert. And the other was a normal man with nothing special on him. Why they stood out, was because of the bodies they carried with them.

The hair on the back of his neck stood. He knew what they were carrying, who they were carrying. He remembered it, and he remembered them setting the bodies down, covered in the colours of House Lannister. But he couldn't remember this scene if it was just happening. Confusion coloured him and he just stared.

"Lord Stark" Lord Tywin greeted and Ned snapped out of his stupor.

"Lord Lannister" Ned greeted back. No more words were exchanged between them, Tywin pulling his son aside while Ned contemplated his situation. He remembered the past and knew of events that would happen in the future. He knew exactly how things were about to play out. He knew what things would be like in the future. And he remembered what that skeletal man had told him, how he was chosen as a hero of sorts and how he was the replacement for the skeletal man. And he remembered what the skeletal man wanted him to do.