I R O N & I C E

FROM ICE, from i c e, we FORRESTERS are born

[frozensharp]

tallisstark‌:

Tallis drew herself up a little, so that she could seem taller in her seat. She stood at only five foot two, though she denied that when asked, adding an extra inch here or there when asked. “That’s ridiculous,” she scowled in his direction. The concept was ridiculous, and as much as she tried to be stern with him, she laughed. Had he not been injured, she would have dug  a sharp elbow into his side, but his wound granted him a rare show of grace. “Just because you’re so big that the Knights of the Vale tried to scale you like one of their mountains, it doesn’t mean you can comment on my height.” It was a relief to be able to joke with him once more. When things had gone sour, she had spent weeks in solitude, rarely leaving her room, denying herself the things she loved and sobbing into the dead of night when she thought nobody could hear. Slowly, she had pieced herself back together, the old, carefree Tallis reemerging from inside her. 

It had taken every once of dignity to forgive him for a wrong he had never apologised for, and to reach out via letter to bridge the gap between them. Her letters to him had been awkward. She was no wordsmith, and her handwriting was barely legible, but she had still done it. He could have ripped up the letters before ever reading them, but he had shocked her and responded. She was glad, now, that she had made that move. It was almost as though no time had passed at all now. she glowed in his presence, though a little voice in her head called out words of caution, warning her not to let her guard down too much, lest she be broken all over again. 

She let her hands slip out from under her, freeing them from where she had sat on top of them to help control herself. She put them on her lap, fingers lacing together neatly. She knew little of politics. It didn’t take her interest, and so she didn’t care. As much as she tried to listen, it all went over her head. “You must do what you think is right, and defend what is yours,” she said, slowly, though from what she understood, she was outraged on his behalf. “Harlon will advise you better than I could.”

He replied to her with a roll of his shoulders and a look towards lord Glover once more, the man was laughing with a few other lords, but their eyes locked from across the room, and the man fell silent in his laughter. Rodrik’s eyebrow rose up, which garnered him a response that held somewhere between bright red indignation and a sort of proud, boastful anger. But Rodrik had already looked away again, the moment passed. “I just hope he listens to my petition. I will not bend the knee to that man.” Then he turned to her and smirked. “But I can tell I am talking you to sleep.”

He was glad that they could sit like this. Like before. Like friends. Things had for the longest time been strained. Practically deadened, between the two of them. He had been at a loss as what to feel. Anger, firstly. She had made him look like a fool at his own wedding. Blamed him for things he had absolutely no control over, that were not of his making. She had offended him, his bride. He had been angry for a while. But the anger had subsided and had been replaced with sadness. He had missed her, in a way that he dared not speak. It had meant he had been ecstatic when she had wrote him and more than eager to forgive and forget. He was about to speak up when a shadow fell over him.

The man that had cast it was Lord Glover. His face was reddened, partly by the drink and partly because of anger. A grimace lay across his face, with knitted eyebrows. His chest heaved with each ale-stained breath. “Were you looking at something, boy?” Rodrik rose from his seat almost immediately. He was nearly two-thirds of a foot taller than lord Glover. And due to his bulk, the man was forced to take a step back. “Go back to your friends, old man.”

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ofninestars‌:

Jayce merely laughed. Regardless of what Lord Forrester was saying, it was obvious from the look in his eye that he was being self-deprecating. It was the same look as most Northerners.The loved their homeland deeply, and were reluctant to leave, but when it came to it, they wouldn’t think twice about about taking up arms and riding as far south as their horses would take them. He would do the same if his Lord and Lady Arryn needed him to. He cast dark eyes around the room,following where Rodrik was pointing. “Even so, it hurts little to look.” 

“I’ve got eyes for one mistress, and she sits in a pitcher, waiting to be poured.” With a grin, Rodrik put the ale back to his lips after his cup had been refilled and took a large sip. There was one thing that would help take the edge off the pain in his side, as well as make this night go a hell of a lot more smoothly. “The world’s mighty small when you look at everyone that’s made their way to Winterfell. Fucking Dorne. Place is half a world away. Yet here the fuckers are.” With an incredulous shaking of his head, he watched as a Dornish entourage made its way through the crowd. “You reckon His Grace made sure to hide the sheep?”

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blueroseicewall‌:

Arrana had a habit for staying to the edges of groups, hiding herself in shadows and avoiding people until she was ready to approach them. Of course, this often meant that she could slip away, back to her rooms and her books, but for her brother she stayed tonight. To honour their father, the crown, the North, though every fibre of her being told her to run.

The smile on her face was growing weaker by the minute, as the night continued. People were drunk, and yelling, and dancing. It was her worst nightmare. Just as she contemplated leaving, trying to convince herself she had done her duty for the night, she saw the late comer. Another person she knew, another person she at least had to greet, otherwise risking looking rude. While there had been a time she hadn’t cared about that, now she had much more awareness for social etiquette.

“How could they not?” Arrana asked, a glass in her hand. Rodrik Forrester wasn’t an easy man to miss, though with the current state of those at court, she was sure at least a few had. “I am sure Harlon will be happy to see you. I don’t quite know where he’s gone, there’s… So many people.” She said the word as though it was a curse.

“I am sure Harlon will be too busy to pay much mind to me.” Rodrik replied with a sour sort of smile. Not that he was genuinely bothered by the King’s need to please. He understood. He had been placed in a situation quite like it, only three years ago. And Harlon’s stakes were much higher. He had a lot more hinging on the impression he made. A drunken, lowly lord wouldn’t be welcome in his company tonight, or so Rodrik reckoned. He bowed his head at her after he had finished. From the way his chest heaved, he seemed not too keen to stand on his feet for too long. The reason became obvious when he pressed his hand to his side and winced.

“Apologies, your highness. I would bow, but I fear that if I do I might actually rip my side in half.” He huffed out a breath and tried to relax back into his seat, but the wound nagged him and he kept grimacing every few seconds. He would’ve loved something stronger than the ale that he was being served at that very moment by a young lad. “Been some time since Winterfell was quite so full,” he said with a nod. “I can’t say I’m too keen on the southern crowds.”

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ofninestars‌:

“I don’t believe that. You Northerners are too proud to be absent for something like this,” Jayce pointed out. There was a truth to his words. The Knights of the Vale were known for their loyalty, their honour, but there were none as duteous as the Northmen. He admired that about them. There was, in truth, little he disliked about the North, except that it wasn’t home. “Besides. There is nowhere in Westeros at this very moment with more wine and women. I know where I would rather be, and I know I would ride through the Seven Hells to get there.” 

“My duty only goes so far as my arse takes me. And my arse will not take me further South than Riverrun.” He joked, knowing that he would do what he needed to do when asked of him. Harlon was his friend, a brother of sorts. He’d go to the end of the Earth for him, the entire Stark family. They had helped his family, they had fostered him. He saw Winterfell as a home, away from home. “The wine is appreciated. The women...” He rolled his shoulders a little and looked around, prodding the man with his shoulder as he pointed to a particularly singular specimen. “Are not what I’m trying to fill my nights with.”

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tallisstark‌:

“You are assuming you can hit me. I am a small target, you know.” Small and quick and nimble, but utterly relentless. She was eager to show him how proficient she had become. She had few talents, but her skill with her swords was to be envied, and she was proud of how she had come, through years of hard work and dedication. Her smile widened, and she shook her head. “If you don’t want others to see you lose to me, then we can wait until the visitors leave. We can be alone then.” It was a bad idea to be alone with him. She had avoided it for years, since he had rejected her at his wedding. Things had been strained since then, but this was giving her hope that they would be better. Perhaps they could reclaim their friendship, if not anything else. 

Tallis nodded her head, slowly, jerking it towards where she knew Lord Glover to be, drunken and celebratory for now, but for how long was anybody’s guess. She had heard of Rodrik’s refusal to declare for the Glovers, as tradition bade him to do. She had felt an intense rush of pride when she had been told, taking it as proof that there was still something of her Rodrik in the man. “Are you looking to avoid him, or for a confrontation? Either can be arranged.” 

He chuckled when she mentioned her size and looked her over, a little dramatically. “I genuinely fear you might have shrunk.” He replied with a laugh. “Soon there will be nothing left of you but a fleshcoloured bean, shaking her little sword.” But he was glad that she could smile at him again. Had he told himself that things would ever even be relatively neutral between the two of them, he would have laughed in his own face, seven years ago. Yet here they were, like old friends, though there was an electricity between them that was unspoken, yet undeniable.

At her mention of Lord Glover and the nod in his direction, Rodrik’s eyes shot over to the man, briefly, and then back. “Avoid him. I heard from Lord Anton that the man has been ranting and raving of late. Threatening to come claim my fealty by the sword or take Ironrath and deliver it into the hands of someone more keen to listen to the old cunt.” His shoulders rolled, as his eyes darkened, eyebrows knitting together. “I will never let him take my father’s halls. My halls.” He stopped himself for a moment, his eyes briefly flicking back to the high table. “Harlon will want his say in the affair.”

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tallisstark‌:

“Rodrik,” she choked his name out, though her face betrayed her shock at his anger. Tallis Stark had never been spoken to like that in her life. It came with being her father’s favourite. She had learned all too well how to get what she wanted, and that stomping her foot when she didn’t often bent others to her will. “You could have said no,” she hissed, teeth gritted. “I chose you or nothing. And I have stuck to that. If you wanted me, you would have done the same.” It was a cheap shot, calling his feelings for her into question, but how can he have ever loved her if that was how he would treat her in her heartbreak. “You and the Woods whore have taken everything from me. I owe you nothing. Certainly not false congratulations and niceties.” 

He turned from her then, and at his use of her title, she was maddened. He knew she hated it, knew it was so against everything Tallis Stark was. She grabbed his sleeve, yanking it with all her might, wanting him to turn and face her again. A plan was coming to mind, one that was bold and stupid and might just work. “Just once more,” she whispered. She was quieter now, softer, but even with her anger stripped back, there was an instability to her, a sense that she was unravelling and soon there would be nothing left. “Just… be with me once more. If this is to be it, give me that. Give me something to remember for the rest of my days.” If she could just get him to lie with her, she was sure she could convince him to send Jaenette away, married in name only, and belong to her once more. This could not be all there was for them. 

He looked at her, almost in disbelief, and then turned his head away from her. The fact that she would even ask it turned his stomach. It was impossible. Not only impossible, it was wrong. He knew that they had loved, and had loved deeply, passionately. Like a fire that consumed ravenously within them. That this was the conclusion to that felt wrong within him. He couldn’t explain it, he didn’t have the words or the wit. A poet might have been better at explaining it. Rodrik only felt sad. “No. Not after all of that. Not now I am a wedded man. Not after you called my fresh bride a whore. No.”

Then, without any further wait, he turned away from her and walked back into the crowd. He passed by folks who looked up at him, intrigued by the goings on that had happened just out of earshot. He was going to find Jaenette and apologise. There was nothing left to be said but that. And yet his heart felt heavy and his feet dragged like they had lead weights tied to them.

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tallisstark‌:

She knew she had made a mistake, but she couldn’t stop herself. The words flowed freely from her lips. She was never the retrained sort, but tonight she was out of control, lashing out at something she couldn’t control, and it was he who was receiving the worst of her assault. He looked at her in shock, and she felt a fierce pride that she had gotten under his skin, hurt him in the way she was hurting. Still, even in the state she was in, drunken and emotional and furious, she knew when he caught her arms and marched her away from the floor to somewhere more secluded that she had pushed him to his limit. She wanted him to scream at her, and it was almost worse that he didn’t. Still, there was no going back now. 

“I won’t apologise,” she jutted her chin out in defiance, her gaze steely as she met his. “Why? Are you going to hurt me?” She let out a cold, mirthless laugh, but it halted at his next words. “Nothing,” she repeated, lifting skinny arms to wrap around herself, to hold herself together when she was so close to falling apart. “You really think this is nothing? It’s not nothing, Rodrik.” She was getting progressively louder, though she didn’t seem to notice. Tears pricked at her eyes and rolled down her cheeks, leaving hot trails in their wake. 

“Aye, I decided that your father wouldn’t let us be wed! I decided that instead I’d marry a Woods girl? Had it all in my head, I did. Rodrik Forrester, master schemer, eh? Piss off, Tallis. You know I wanted you. But this isn’t Ser Florian and Lady Venna. We do not get to choose.” He took another step back and looked at her, flames in his eyes and anger written on his face, tugging his lips up, which were now hidden in a beard that was longer than one might expect for his age. “And yet, there you stand. Spitting venom at me as though I had a say in any of this. Spitting venom at Jaenette, who was told just like you were, who she was to marry, and who not.” He then looked over towards the crowd of people, whom had all gone rather quiet.

Then, he turned back to Tallis. “I believed that you, of all people, would understand that I did not want this.” Then, he bowed his head at her and turned away, with a grumbled, “Your highness.”

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ofninestars‌:

“Then no. Nobody noticed,” Jayce shrugged. He didn’t recognise the Lord, but then again, Jayce had a terrible memory for faces. He met so many people, at tourneys, when travelling, as part of his role as hand, and even those who he did not know recognised him. There was no mistaking the Knight of Ninestars, no matter what side of the border you hailed from. Still, by his attitude, there was no way this man could be anything but a Northerner. 

“You’re lucky it’s such a short journey. I’d hate to have come from Dorne,” Jayce continued, conversationally. If he had noticed the man’s dislike, he didn’t care. He had never met somebody he couldn’t win over eventually. He swirled his drink around his cup. Whilst he was here for a good time, he was deliberately keeping his alcohol levels low, just in case he was needed. “Drinking. Dancing. Some Stormlanders drew swords on each other, but it was quickly quashed,” he said, not caring to elaborate. “Morale is high, and there seems to be little tension, surprisingly. Perhaps after more drink things will be a little more eventful.” 

Rodrik nodded with a satisfied sigh. He was worried, with so many people coming from so many different places, and with the lineages that spread across Westeros, their long histories and everything that came with that, it might have been waiting for trouble. The fact that the only trouble came from Stormlanders - which wasn’t all that surprising, having learned what he had about the men from that rainsoaked place - made him sit better. He still winced when his wound came under pressure, but his shoulders seemed to relax a little. “I was on a horse for about five days. Can hardly bloody imagine sitting on a godsforsaken nag for more than a months. I think I might have simply refused the invitation. Politics be damned.”

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tallisstark‌:

Tallis sat on her hands, all the better to keep them off of him. She hadn’t realised how much she had been touching him until he asked her to stop fussing, and she was suddenly embarrassed by herself. The easy affection that they shared should have died long ago, especially considering how much of a fool she had made of herself. She could feel the heat rise to her cheeks, no matter how much she tried to force the memories back. “Fine. But don’t blame me if it festers,” she said with a roll of her eye. She would speak to the maester anyway, ensure he had a salve to keep away infection and all he needed to heal, even if he claimed it was just a scratch. 

“And why not?” She was offended, outraged even, that he wouldn’t cross blades with her, even just for fun. “It’s just sparring, Rodrik. Besides, I don’t break easily.” This was true. At first glance, she was small and pale, delicate looking, even, but there was an unyielding strength to her most did not expect, and she loved nothing better than showing it to them. “Harlon will do no such thing. He’s more likely to take my head for being such a thorn in his side.” She laughed again. She would convince him one way or another, always having possessed a knack for getting what she wanted. 

“Aye, it is just sparring. But a sword is still a big iron club if you blunt it.” A grin had appeared on his face however. He knew exactly how headstrong Tallis Stark was. When it came to pigheadedness, they matched almost perfectly, though Rodrik was a lot more patient, most of the time. “Fine, fine. Agreed. One time. We will speak about it later. I am not too keen on beating your head in while half the world watches me do it.” He then put on his most smug smile and looked at her for but a moment, before bursting into a thunder of laughter at what was assumedly a rather annoyed face she was making. It had always been one of his keenest pleasures to make her look sour. Her eyebrows knitting together and her nose scrunching up like it did, those were the sights he had lived for as a boy.

“Have you seen Lord Glover?” He then asked, his head peering over hers into the crowd. The Glovers were lords over the Wolfswood, though the relationship they had with the Starks had been strained, ever since they had won the North back from the Boltons. Glover influences had withered with the return and glory of House Forrester, and now that Rodrik had inherited half the Wolfswood from his Father by Law, the balance of power was in disarray. The man had come to Ironrath a few months prior. By law and tradition, Rodrik swore fealty to the Glovers. But the tall bear of the Ironwood grove had refused to bend the knee. Stubborn and willful Rodrik had other ideas. “Alarm me when you do. If he has enough ale behind his teeth he might drink himself into false courage...”

[frozensharp]

tallisstark‌:

She was making a scene, and by the look on her face, she knew it. She had been warned, but there was nobody who could tell Tallis what to do, and in any case, she had drunk too much to pay much heed to her own behaviour. She led him to the middle of the floor, cleared specifically for dancing, with a fierce sense on determination, as though she was daring everyone to stop her. The bride, Lords Woods and Forrester, even her own father. In that moment, she would have fought them all, hellkite that she was. She moved around him with an innate grace, even in her current state of inebriation. It didn’t matter that he was stiff before her. Her movements were fluid, and well practised. She had never taken well to studies, could read just barely and her penmanship was even worse. Her stitches never straight, her sums never adding up, but she could dance better than anybody, even with a reluctant partner. 

His words had her narrowing her eyes, glaring up at him with thinly veiled anger. “Fuck Jaenette.” She spoke the words savagely, every inch the she-wolf, teeth bared for all to see. “And fuck you, Rodrik.” She spun around in time to the music, but was by his side again before he could move away, “Does your wife know you’ll be thinking of me when you take her to bed tonight?” She was being vicious, though her lips twisted up into a smirk, taking a twisted sort of pleasure in mocking him. “Or will you be taking me to your bed and leaving Jaenette to see to herself?” She was crude in her fury, but under it was a rawer sort of emotion, evident in the way her voice broke as she reached the end of her question. She was taunting him no longer, though only somebody who knew her well enough to read her like a book could see it. It was a plea to him. If she could not have what she wanted, it would be the next best thing, and she could settle for it, if she had to.  “Please,” she whispered, not entirely sure what she was asking him for. All she knew was that she was miserable, and only he could fix her. 

Her words halted him. He no longer danced. He just stood there, with shock on his face. He had known she was angry, but this was venomous, and he would not stand idly by. He had perhaps not chosen to marry Jaenette. If things had gone his own way, Tallis and he would be dancing before the crowds of their own marriage. But it was not to be. To attack him like this? To cut him with her words, to take swipes at a bride about as willing to step into this marriage as he was? Rodrik had too much honour and pride in him. He had drunk more than her, by quite a bit, but felt a lot less inebriated. His size keeping him in relative order. He had some control over his wit left. And it was that control, and the fact that he still felt for Tallis, that allowed him to keep the raging storm in the pit of his stomach under control.

He grabbed her arm as subtly as he could. He was enormous, and with his size came a remarkable strength. He took her along, as swiftly and subtly as he was able to, off the floor and to the place where the family would dine when there were no feasts. A slightly heightened platform, away from the crowd. Once there, he let go of her, and before she could start her tirade, he turned to her. “Enough.” He seethed. Rage boiled in his eyes. He could have cried for it, but his control seemed to extend somewhat further. “Speak to me like that again and they will have grounds to lock me away, Tallis Stark.” His jaw was set, his voice eerily calm. “We did nothing to earn this child’s rage.”

[frozensharp]

empyrcals‌:

“It’s going to be a change from calling him by his name to your grace. I’m sure in public it will have to be this way, but I can see when we men are in the privacy of our own company he’ll be the same with the addition of a crown to his name” Jasper teased lightly feeling his own tongue tripping on the words. It would be a small learning curve to call Harlon the proper honorific instead of what friends usually shouted at one another. Another thing the Arryn understood as well was Rodrik’s unknowing of half the people here. Half of them were southerners from a kingdom Northmen didn’t often care to go down into. They did, but still, not everyone took a holiday to see the reach or crownlands. There was an entirely new score of people to get to know and understand beyond their own larger social circles.

“Not all of the food hardly. I know my Oswin tends to hoard a few snacks with him - the boy is only nine and just now deciding to have a ravenous appetite and a need to consume all food in sight. We could track that child of mine down and see if he had something to ease the growl in a stomach sure to begin roaring” a smile spread across his face recalling he saw the younger of his son’s trying to escape with a meat pie earlier. A quick glance could see the bear of a man beside him disliked the trappings of formal wear. Rodrik was more north then man some days he would assume knowing how strong a personality he had and how often Jasper was sure Rodrik was in comfortable garb to move about as he pleased. Arms like tree trunks couldn’t enjoy this much captivity beneath such trappings.

“The Vale is how its always been - a place of wonder and mystery but very much the same. Cold in the mountains yes, cold in the valley too this time of year but nothing unbearable. The mountain tribes survive through harsher weather, but some lordlings tremble. You should see the mountains for yourself, Rodrik. Explore the misty mountains crowned with clouds in search of adventure if you have a chance to free from your duties. They are a wonder in themselves”

“How’s your boy?” Turned to the man beside him, smiling kindly while he drank down the cup in his hand. Of all the many people he could have ended up besides, he was glad that he had ended up next to a familiar face. One he didn’t have to get to know, for he already knew him. Rodrik wasn’t exactly a social butterfly. Not quiet, per say, or shy, but in a way a rather closed man. He kept to his own. The friends he already had. Northern folk with pragmatic hearts and diligent souls. Or atleast the closest approximation to those things. Not everyone was a paragon of virtue, least of all Rodrik. His short temper and broody nature were about as well-known as his size. “See if he’s as tough as his father when I ask for his stockpiles.”

A chuckle rolled past his lips, which was followed by a low hiss and a hand subconsciously drifting to his side. A small, dark spot had fond its way through his tunic, and when Rodrik pulled his fingers from the spot, they were coated with red. “Agh, Seven Hells.” He whispered, bringing his bloody fingers to his mouth to clean them. “You have any proper maesters in that mysterious and wonderful home of yours? Because mine’s an old fool. Man was supposed to have closed this wound...” He muttered under a groan, trying to take the weight off his ribs, where the wound sat. “Be a while before I’m free of my duties, my lord.”

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ofninestars‌:

Jayce was thoroughly enjoying himself. He spent his fair share of time in Winterfell as a member of the small council, both for King Brandon and now for Harlon, and even before that, accompanying his mother on her own journeys. He had never seen it this full, and though he had come to have a deep respect for the Northerners, it was a refreshing change of pace. 

He was taking a moment from dancing, whirling maidens around the dance floor with well-practised steps. From where he was, ale in hand, he had a good vantage point of the hall, but he would have seen the new entrant regardless. A taller man would have been near impossible to find, and late to boot. Still, when he took the seat beside Jayce, he shuffled over slightly, giving him more space to settle in. “Would it make you feel better if I lied, and said no?” The Knight of Ninestars cracked a grin, almost apologetic. “You’re right on time. Things are just starting to get interesting.” He gestured around with a gloved hand to the revelry, most already well on their way to a drunken stupor. “Did you have a long way to travel?”  

He looked sheepish, while the tips of his ears went red and he refused to look to the man beside him. “It would go a long way into having me feel less like an absolute fool.” He grumbled, more to himself than anyone else, but slowly turned to look. Jayce Templeton was a familiar sight, if not a friend. He had been to Winterfell and Rodrik knew his face, though he was never too fond of the man. And the fact that Jayce seemed not to know from whence he came only deepened that dislike. Rodrik wasn’t a very proud man, but he had been a ward, and was one of the more recognizable figures of the North. Templeton or not, Jayce had been on the small council.

“The Wolfswood, so a few days. But the roads are clear and I have a good horse.” He replied, curtly. That was when a servant girl walked past. Any lesser man would have grabbed her and made her pour him a drink, while staring down the obvious cut of her gown. Rodrik simply put his hand on her arm and caught her attention, nodding at a cup and then at the pitcher without saying much. The cup was filled, and he drank it down in one go. With a grin on her face, the girl poured him another filled cup, and then made off again. It was then that he turned back to the man beside him. “Anything interesting happen? Can’t have been a quiet ordeal, what with all these southron chickens walking about.”

[frozensharp]

tallisstark‌:

She followed his gaze to the high table once more, though there was something else behind the pride in her eyes. Worry. Not for her brother’s throne, or the kingdom. That, she was sure, was in capable hands, but what hands was Harlon in? She worried for him, his mind, his heart and his happiness. She had heard whispers of the mad king from the South. She did not want the same fate for Harlon. 

She diverted her attention back to him. in his presence, she shone. He brought out the best of Tallis, the tenderness that others might claim didn’t exist. As much as she tried to bury it, to hide it from prying, gossiping eyes, she couldn’t lie to herself. Still, she wouldn’t acknowledge it. It felt good to not be at his throat, almost like things had before, and though she stubbornly refused to think about what they had been through together, the shadow of what was unsaid hung over her. 

She suspected he was playing down the damage. Perhaps her worry was unfounded. It felt so bloody womanly, to be fussing over him the way she was, and that was something Tallis had always bucked against, but she couldn’t help but reach up when the pain hit him once more, her hands resting on his broad shoulders and guiding him to the nearest chair. “You need to sit,” she said, firmly. “And I will tell our maester to check your dressings tomorrow. For my own peace of mind.” She took the seat beside him, but turned so her body was angled to his, cutting them both off from the rest of the hall. “They knew they couldn’t touch you in a fair fight,” she shrugged, unflinching in the face of all the gory details. She had always sought out the most gruesome and horrible stories, and it didn’t offend her sensitivities. 

“Then I look forward to proving you wrong when your wounds heal. Unlike your last opponent, I fight clean.” It had been Aeron Greyjoy who recognised her warriors spirit, put a blade in her hand and taught her to swing it, and now, she fought with one in each hand. She had never tasted battle, never took the life of another, but had beaten many of the men who sparred with her, and had no doubts that she could. She was glad to hear he was staying, even though a part of her screamed that it was an awful, terrible idea. “Winterfell has missed you,” she responded. She missed him, though she would not say it before he did. 

He reluctantly sat down, but once his big arse met the chair, he huffed in relief. Taking some weight off the wound seemed to help. Her care softened him, but he felt a little sheepish with her touching and fussing over him. With the weight of their past hanging over them, it felt strange. “Stop fussing, would you? I’m not dying,” he muttered with an amused, if somewhat stiffled voice. “And you’ll tell the Maester no such thing. I can bind my own wounds.” Then, he grabbed another cup from a passing servant and set it to his lips, swigging it down in one go. When she sat down beside him, he looked at her with a bit of pride on his face. “Fucking hogfarmers taking up swords to line their pockets.”

At her suggestion he let out a blatant, loud laugh. “You think I will spar you? I like my head on my shoulders, princess. Harlon would have it removed. I’d break you in half.” He did not mistrust her abilities. She must have trained, looking at her. She was lean, she looked strong. And it was Tallis Stark he was talking to, the firey dervish of Winterfell. But there was more to fighting than what she’d been taught in private lessons. He’d experienced it. He wore that experience on his skin. The spotless boy was no more. 

[frozensharp]

tallisstark‌:

@frozensharp​

Seven years ago

Tallis had point blank refused to go to the wedding. 

When Rodrik Forrester had left Winterfell, she had gone to her father, and for the first time in her life, he had told her no. No, he could not come back. No, she couldn’t go to him. No, he would not let her marry him. She had begged, and pleaded, and cried, but Kind Brandon had held firm.  He hadn’t been unsympathetic, and attempted to comfort his daughter by telling her he would find her a good match, that her feelings were a passing fancy only natural in a girl her age, but he was missing half the story, and could never understand. She didn’t want marriage, to be a lady and rule a castle and birth future lords and ladies for a shit of a husband. She wanted Rodrik. 

Her father had refused her this time, too. She had declared that she wasn’t going, and he had threatened to drag her by the hair. And so here she was, knocking back wine like her life depended on it and wearing a sour expression. She had already offended the bride, and her father had gone to make it up to Lord Woods, leaving her, for the first time, alone. A rush of impulsiveness ran through her, and she slammed her cup down. She was going to find Rodrik. 

It wasn’t a difficult task. He was taller than most of the other men, and it didn’t take much to dart to his side, interrupting his conversation rudely. She grabbed his hand, without asking, a steely determination in her face. “You owe me a dance, Lord Forrester.” It was a demand, not a request, and she would not allow him to refuse.

He’d been talking to Lord Glover’s younger brother, Edmund, when his hand was grabbed. When he turned, suspecting his bride, he was met with the face of Tallis Stark. Perhaps it should have surprised him that she’d be so forward, but it didn’t. And her demand did not come as a shock to him either. He swallowed, excusing himself to the men he had been speaking to, telling them he could hardly refuse a princess, and allowed Tallis to lead him away to the floor. He brushed through the crowd, which seemed to part easily when they noticed him pass. The Forrester Hall, rebuilt after being ransacked by Whitehill men - with Bolton leave - looked more glorious than ever. Beautiful carvings in the ironwood trim surrounded them. The hearth in the center of the room roared brightly, lighting every corner. The Ironwood seat behind the long table stared down, with his father in it. He watched as Rodrik passed through the crowd with Tallis, while beside him the King and lord Woods spoke and drank.

Rodrik tried his best to ignore his father’s raised eyebrows and stern look. It seemed a little forward to take any woman but his wife to dance. But Rodrik owed Tallis this much, even though it made everything a whole lot harder. As they approached, the minstrel struck the chords of a new song, and he took her hand. He was a little wooden in his dancing. “Before you start hissing at me, I did not choose this,” he muttered, his voice sounding dark and low. “And you had no right speaking to Jaenette like that. She could not help this any better than I could.”

[frozensharp]

tallisstark‌:

The sentiment behind his sympathies was welcomed more than it was from any other. Tallis had been given more condolences than she ever could have cared for, but this one was one that mattered. Rodrik knew her father and knew what he had meant to her, the closeness between the two. There were precious few Starks left in Winterfell now, just she and her brother and his infant son. The loss of the former king was sorely felt, throughout the halls of Winterfell and within her own heart, and he knew her well enough to recognise that. “Thank you,” she uttered, quietly. She wanted to wrap her arms around him again, to feel safe in the comfort of him, but this wasn’t the place, and their time had long since passed, though she almost gave in at the squeeze of her waist, doll-like under large hands. “I have no doubt he will be a good king. And if not, I shall be the first to tell him so.” She laughed then, and the old Tallis was back, bright and vibrant and crackling with energy.

Her hand lingered longer than it should have on his, and she withdrew it reluctantly, allowing fingers to brush over his callouses. He was smiling at her, and that was almost enough to make her forget that they were older, more damaged. He had been made to fill a role he was never supposed to, and she was pushing against her own harder than ever without King Brandon to control her. “You better be,” she said. If he wasn’t, she would certainly see to it that he would be. “The Wolfswood is lucky to have such a fierce protector.” She pitied the fool who swung a sword against him. Tall and strong and built for fighting, he was everything a man should be, and she doubted there was anybody in the kingdoms who could match him.

They had both changed, but he especially. She wasn’t a far cry from the girl she had been, even through the scars on her soul that mirrored his. The boy who had left Winterfell was almost unrecognisable, but she could see him, knew he was still there under the iron exterior. Still, the bond between them was the same as it ever was, even though it had thinned in places. “You should ask. If you don’t, then I will ask for you.” He had her rumbled, a sure sign that he still knew her well, and she grinned mischievously. “And why not? I can wield a sword as well as anybody in Winterfell.” 

“Harlon will do well. He’s had a great mentor and he’s surrounded by advisors.” Rodrik replied with a small smile on his face. He once more looked at their king at his high table. He put his cup to his lips, took a long swig of his ale and then set the empty cup on a nearby table, merely having to reach over. He was trying his best not to reminisce. Not to remember. Not to think. Focusing on what was, rather than what had been, and the words that had been exchanged between them. If only not to hurt her again as he once had. He’d hated himself for it. But it had been a circumstance he had no control over. And now, the future had them relinquish any past that might have been.

At her compliment, his chest puffed up just a tad and he grinned at her, though his eyes revealed a little more humility than his body language might have shown. “It will heal. The cut wasn’t very deep and the Maester bound it expertly. I was more upset that he managed to slip through. Gutless whoresons didn’t fight clean. Just swiped one of them off my back when the other speared me. The one I threw off snapped like a twig against the tree I threw him at.” His shoulder rolled, but another grimace had him put his hand on his wound again. “It nags when I move.” He then let out a low sigh and tried to adjust, keep the weight off the wound.

When she continued, he let out a bellow of a laugh and looked at her a little boyish. “That just makes me worried about the swordsmanship in your garrison.” What his laugh hid was that he knew he believed her. She’d always been fiery, against the grain. If any woman would learn how to swing a sword, it would have been her. It was exactly what he appreciated, even loved about her. She was very much Tallis Stark. Singular and unique. “Once this ordeal’s done and over with, I’ll petition. I was planning on staying in Winterfell a few nights after the crowds ride home. Have a matter to discuss with Harlon. And I’ve missed y--... Winterfell.”

[frozensharp]

tallisstark‌:

It had been ten years since they had lived under the same roof, and much had changed in that time. He had been married and widowed and made a lord, and though not much had changed for Tallis, she had gone from the daughter of a king to a sister of one. Still, when she saw him, she was a teenager again, and no time at all had passed. “Do not will that thought into existence. If I get any smaller, there will be nothing else left of me.” arms encircled her own slender waist. Despite her joy at seeing him again, memories she would rather forget were creeping in from the darker corners of her mind, of her making a fool of herself and the shame that followed.  She wasn’t angry at him anymore, though she was still uncharacteristically self-conscious about it all.

Through her embarrassment, a lurch went through her, as it always did when she heard Harlon referred to by their father’s titles. The loss was still fresh for Tallis, and it didn’t quite feel right to refer to her brother by names she associated so strongly with him. Perhaps it would feel more natural, someday. “He has done well. I am proud of him,” she nodded, and that, at least, was true. Harlon had stepped up to the mark in a way Tallis never could. She was certain that this was to be the start of a glorious reign, and if he let her, she would be by his side for all of it. 

His tale had her eyes shining, hungry for excitement, the knowledge that there was adventure to be had close by, just through the Wolfswood. Any thoughts she had of glory were quickly pressed aside when she noted his grimace. She had never been known for being observant, but with him, she noted every gesture, every slight change in expression, and her brows knotted together in concern. “You’re hurt,” she pointed out, her own fingers darting out to brush over the back of his hand without thinking about it. “If you need reinforcements from Winterfell, you need only ask. It is not so far that Harlon cannot spare a few men.” She could ride with them, grasping the opportunity to place herself in his company with both hands. Despite everything, there was a desperate, girlish type of hope she would have scoffed at in any other.  

Rodrik nodded when she affirmed her pride in Harlon and looked through the room to the high table, where he would undoubtedly be sat. His shoulders dropped just a little when he saw his friend sitting in the place his father should have been. He wasn’t ignorant to the pain that Tallis would be feeling at that moment. He had experienced it, a dozen times over. The plague that had swept across the Wolfswood had taken good men and women. His father, his brother, his wife. At the thought of his wife his face hardened just a little. He remembered vividly the exchange he had had with Tallis before his wedding day. The pain, the venom. But they spoke now, which was more than he could have wished for. “I know it doesn’t help, nothing ever does, but you have my sympathies for your father’s passing. He was a good man.” There was so much more to say, but nothing that would do anything but hurt her, break her heart even further. And nothing he could think of to help but extend an arm and put it on her waist, giving her a brief squeeze. “Harlon will do well. He was bred for a crown.”

At her concern his shoulders rolled, but he felt lighter when her hand touched to his. A smile broke over his stoic face. He had not smiled much in the past three years. Labour took up most of his time, as did the responsibilities of rulership. They had kept most of the dread and indescribable pain at bay. Simply putting his mind to something had kept him afloat. He would be lying if memories of years past helped as well. His nights had been lonely ever since he took Ironrath. “I’ll be fine.” He barked, though there was obvious gratitude on his face. “The fucker merely grazed me. He was choking on his own blood before he could enjoy his small triumph.”

There was something hard about Rodrik Forrester. He still was the kind, charitable man he had grown into. But there were scars on him and inside him which had changed him in ways. A fighter had been born out of the giant boy that he had been. At her suggestion, he rose an eyebrow. “Perhaps I will ask him for a few good hands, once all of this is over. The quarters still sit silent. We lost most of our grown lads. Oldest boy in the woods is eleven.” He then thought about what she had said and shot her a look. “Thinking he’ll let you come along, do you?” His voice sounded suspicious, but there was a glint in his eye that betrayed intrigue.

[frozensharp]

empyrcals‌:

Lord Arryn had come down from his mountain, dressed in the most exquisite blue, and though he was not extraordinarily tall, he knew how to dress and still cut a formidable figure. The man looked and breathed power in every single movement - even the subtle lift of his goblet to drink from it as he found the face of someone familiar. “You one of the largest men alive we have ever seen? Perhaps not for most of the guests have had the ale go to their head, drunk on arbor gold celebrating their new king” Jasper chuckled, looking the mountain of a man over setting his drink beside the others. “There have been so many visitors our friend has yet to greet all of them, so I would think his grace hasn’t noticed you weren’t here all along. I would say though it was a louder entrance then you were hoping, Forrester. Perhaps we should have you try the main entrance next time. It would be less noticeable ”

There were many things said about Rodrik Forrester. Not famous, nor infamous. Neither glorious or wealthy - though the ironwood harvests had done wonders for Forrester coffers. But among the Lords of the North, he had a few friends. Mostly due to his amicable and diligent nature. Rodrik Forrester had a loud laugh that seemed contagious, and when he had been warded in Winterfell, the opportunities to meet those who would now serve under Harlon had been plentiful. A relationship that had fruited from this time was one with Jasper Arryn, now lord of the Eyrie, once a boy, much like Rodrik.

They had met a few times, but knew eachother’s face and Rodrik considered the man a friend, if a little far away. Regardless, his face broke into a sheepish grin when the man made comment about his entrance. The tips of Rod’s ears went red. “I did not want Har-- Our King to have his feast disturbed because my tardy arse couldn’t make it until the day of his bleedin’ crowning. Have to express my condolences to him infront of all these folks. Don’t know even half o’ them.”

He then shook his head and let out a thunderous sigh. Everything the man did seemed to be laden with a bit more weight. “Missed the food as well.” Then, he seemed to consolidate himself and rolled his shoulders. The seams of his tunic - flax - strained. He looked respectable, lordly, and wildly uncomfortable. “How is the Vale, lord Arryn? Much colder in the mountains?”