Jojen Reed

Jojen Reed Lord in Greywater Watch Gifted with The Sight The Visions take a toll...

[greeneyedreed]

thesteelstag‌:

“No- we need to make as many as possible so all of that doesn’t matter. Hopefully we won’t need to pass down these weapons to those who follow after us.” Gendry hoped there would be no need of the dragonglass weapons after the fight in the North and that the weapons they were making wouldn’t be passed down to sons and daughters, like those of valyrian steel, so they could be prepared. Hopefully the undead would be all be killed once more and that they’d live to see the aftermath of everything. But that was so far away so he tried not to think about that future. “Maybe once this is done and there is time- I’d like to see what can be done with dragonglass.”

Gendry nodded at the explanation; he didn’t know much about the North and its people but he understood being treated different and he too was loyal to the Starks. He only knew the one but he knew a lot about the family and certainly enough to offer his help and remain loyal to them. “The Starks are good people,” he nodded. “What should I call you then, my lo-” Gendry cut himself off, already trying to act like he was meant to around someone with a title.

“That is something I hope with my whole being.” These weapons would serve as a reminder of men bringing about their own destruction. Jojen supposed none but he, his sister and Bran even knew the Night King and his forces were made by the Children of the Forest to battle the humans who sought to exterminate them... It was almost ironic. He thought it best to keep that information to himself; after all, his homeland was said to be one of the last places they could live, he didn’t want vengeful people searching the Neck for them if they survived this battle. “It’s a pleasing colour,” he noted, turning the dagger over in his hands, “It could probably make something rather beautiful with time.”

“They are. We have been loyal to them since our forces allied.” And never, in all the history of their alliance had the Crannogmen failed in a task the Stark’s gave them, that would not change now. “Please, simply Jojen will be fine.” he said with a small nod, “And what should I call you? It’s only fair we both have a way to address one another.” he reasoned with a small smile.  

[greeneyedreed]

lcdyblackwood‌:

She wanted to admit that she felt the same. It was easier to hold a sense of dread when marching North, towards an enemy that was certain and tangible. But if they were to win and overcome the dead, they’d have to face themselves. Where would the cards fall when all the dust was settled and the bodies burned? Would they turn on one another within the walls of Winterfell? Was their true enemy marching alongside them. “I understand,” Clara told him with a small nod of their hand. “That weight… Like your heart slowly sinking in your chest. As if you know that a sword will be waiting around a corner, and yet you cannot stop yourself from taking the steps. I understand very well.”

“And why not?” The dark haired woman wondered, a small smile reaching her lips. “Why was Lann clever? Because he swindled the Casterly’s for their castle. Not a very legendary story, yet we hold it with reverence. In my opinion, Jojen the Little Grandfather, is a much more grand and fitting title. You’re very wise, Lord Jojen. You should wear it with honor.” She didn’t say the words to be kind or to stroke an ego she wasn’t sure he had. But because it was true. He had helped her in a time when she wasn’t sure she could be pulled from the hole she had been left in. “It’s hard to believe in the duality of men when so many find ways of proving that their light died long ago.” Clara’s gloved fingers curled around each other at his question, unsure of how to answer. “…I don’t, no.” She said with a shake of her head. “The Gods are just that… Gods. I do not expect mercy nor reprieve from them. That’s why they are Gods.” What stories had she read about the walkers? Tales of maesters who believed with all their heart that they existed and others who dismissed it as fairy tale and folly. “I read that when they speak, it sounds like a frozen lake breaking apart. That their eyes are as bright as burning ice.” Her blue eyes shot to Jojen apprehensively, wondering if she sounded as if she were admiring them. “And that they have the look of death on them.”

Jojen had dealt with such instincts his entire life; the gift of Greensight was as much a curse as it was an aid. He saw things he could not control, tragedies of people he may never meet yet still needed to be aware of or worse still, visions of ones he knew and the pressure of how to best deal with that. Luckily, those visions had been few and manageable as of yet; seeing Bran Stark and travelling to meet with him or the one who’d defected from the Night’s Watch dying. “That is about the lot of it, yes.” he nodded slightly, “It’s a feeing one can become accustomed to, I would know, but never one a person could enjoy. As though forever sitting on a chair with uneven legs.”

“Because I’d rather not be known.” he said with a small shrug, “I care not what those who come centuries after think of me nor if my name lives in legend. I merely wish to live my life doing as well as I can with the gifts I am given.” When all this was finished, if they survived, he’d be content to return to the neck and live out his life there, maybe take a partner. Truthfully he’d sooner leave Greywater Watch to Meera, she’d be much better equipped for it than he, and live a quiet, happy life. Of course, none of that mattered until they lived through this threat. He smiled softly, “You do me more credit then I deserve, my wisdom is not always my own.” Jojen had the Old Gods to thank for the intelligence he could provide, even if cost him his health to do so. “That may be so, yet light never truly goes, or else by what would we quantify the dark? It only exists so long as light shines in it, however small. Those small lights are worth enduring for.” he sighed and shook his head slightly, take a few moment to regain his breath before speaking, “They are, we cannot know their motives, merely hope that should they act it will be done in our favour in exchange for our loyalty.” he gazed at her for a few moments before looking away, “They do not speak. Not a sound save for beastial grunts. Their eyes are very much burning ice, if their bodies still have eyes,” he sighed, “Not a look of death, no.” he paused again for a few beats before quietly confirming, “They are death.”

[greeneyedreed]

houndisdead‌:

“Oh, no. You’re not one of those fuckers, are you?” When the young man started talking about not worrying to keep himself alive, Sandor feared he might have ran into something he had ran into before. “I had a–” A friend. Sandor stopped himself before the word left his lips. Was he really about to call those people his friends? He didn’t have any, that was the whole point of him aimlessly wandering the lands of Westeros. He didn’t travel them alone, however. Maybe there was some truth there. “I knew a man who didn’t fear death, because his God brought him back to life. I don’t see your priest anywhere near, so I’m guessing you’re not some kind of fire worshipper, are you?”  

The question that followed came unexpected, but just from knowing the kid for a short amount of time he could already tell he would have to get used to that. It seemed like the boy didn’t have any filter and asked the questions he wanted, without thinking of how they would affect the people who were on the other end. “Aye, I used to hope that if Gods were merciful, they would take me sooner rather than later. I’ve nearly died once, crawled back to life. Was told I’m here for a purpose. If only he would’ve told me what the fuck did he mean by that…“

Jojen tilted his head in confusion. The question could be accurate if the other were asking about his birthplace; Jojen had been asked less politely if he were a Crannogman in Dragonstone. As he continued a small smile spread across his lips and an even quieter laugh escaped him, “I don’t have a priest, nor am I one myself. Though I do have a relationship with my Gods, the Old Gods.” he paused before added, “And you needn’t worry, I’m not looking to convert others to my faith.” He couldn’t help but ask though, “So, you’ve seen a man brought back to life? The only thing I’ve seen in that vein was a White Walker beyond the wall.”

“We’re all here for a purpose.” Jojen said with absolute certainty, “Some of us for Old Gods, others for a Lord of Light, a Drowned God, a Faceless God,” he shrugged, “Others too make their own purposes in life, but more often than not... We never clearly know what they are.” he sighed, “For all they may be merciful Gods never speak plainly and their gifts can be painful to endure.” He knew that for certain, though judging by the other’s experience he suspected he knew it well enough too.  

[gotladies]

Jojen and Meera Reed first appearance.

[greeneyedreed]

princeofxwhitelies‌:

Another night of no sleep it seemed, and he watched as such unrest took effect on Jojen’s ability to properly move. The boy lost his footing, unsurprisingly, and collided with Theon who stood solidly in place. One arm came out to offer some support, and he couldn’t help but wonder if all from the bog were this inexplicably stubborn. “And you’re doing a fine job of it.” He scoffed lightly, ushering Jojen outside where Arrow waited patiently. Originally, he would have just hoisted him up before mounting himself, but he didn’t trust Jojen to maintain his balance on his own in such a state. 

There was a mounting block near a cluster of tied up horses, and Theon guided his riding companion with one arm as he pulled the reigns with his other. “Climb up here, and put your hands on her to steady yourself.” Theon circled around Arrow’s other side, and without his saddle to pull himself atop her, it would prove slightly more difficult, but the padding saved her back from the discomfort of his full weight bearing down through his arms before he finally settled.

“Alright, here.” He offered his hand, and once Jojen accepted it he pulled him up Arrow’s side. Theon gripped Jojen’s left hip once he was half way up to better usher him into the gentle sway of the mare’s back in front of him, knowing it wasn’t the most graceful thing to see, but it got him in place well enough. With his chest to Jojen’s back, and his arms on either side of him holding the reigns, there would be no way of him slipping off.

“Place your hands on her shoulders or grab her mane if you feel the need to hold something.” He advised as he gently turned Arrow to the side and got her at a slow walk. “You’re much more likely to fall forward than backward, so lean against me if you start to feel unwell.”

He would never speak ill of the Old Gods, nor damn them or curse the gift he had been given... However, that didn’t mean he could not internally grumble and whine about his body falling to peaces around him and causing him to look like an invalid old man rather than a man in his prime. “The ground was unsteady.” he said, as close to a whine as he (verbally) permitted himself. Considering he always hoped to portray himself as mature and wise he was doing an awful job of it all.

Worse still was being helped by the man who’s very death he had seen and refused to tell of since it could mean his King’s survival. The guilt of it weighted upon him almost as much as his own fatigue. But... he saw things for a reason, there was nothing to say the future could not be tweaked, he was close enough to affect this, surely the Old Gods wouldn’t have permitted him such a vision unless they desired him to act upon it? He was jolted from this thoughts by Theon speaking and looked up (and up) at the horse, gulping at the look of it.

“Very well.” he cleared his throat, determined not to act akin to a scared boy in this matter as he unsteadily stepped up and placed his hands on the horse the coat warm under his fingers. He gulped again, took the other’s hand and was luckily distracted by his aching frame, a small groan of pain escaping him mid-movement, to wholly worry about the shift from earth to horse. He was tense in place, even if he could feel Theon’s broader chest behind him.

Taking the advice he gripped the main, hoping it wasn’t too tight and listened to the other’s advice, nervous enough at this speed, “I may lean against you regardless out of fear of this beast flinging me off.” he grumbled, “For once I’m somewhat pleased to be of smaller stature.” Hopefully less weight would mean less pain upon impact when he was flung off...      

[greeneyedreed]

krakenskiss‌:

“The children of a salt wife are not seen as bastards - they can inherit lands if their father has no children by his rock wife. Some of the older folks might have a problem, but times are changing. Most people would not bat an eye.” Maron was beginning to tire of this boy’s chatter - if he wanted this information he should ask a maester, or any common man among the ironborn ranks. He was the Lord Reaper of Pyke, not some bog child’s teacher. 

Maron’s eyebrows shot up at Jojen’s claim that he knew of the late Balon Greyjoy, but before he could question him, the little swamp creature had uttered words that had only ever been passed between a dead man and Maron himself. It should have been you under Lord Mallister’s blade, and it should have been you that Ned Stark stoke away north. The Drowned God punished me by leaving you. Balon had always been the sort of man to get the last word in, even in the moments before he had been toppled off the bridge into the sea by his own offspring. Those words had haunted Maron - so cruel they were, spoken to lance their way straight into the younger kraken’s insecurities. He would never be Rodrik, or Asha, or Theon, just the son Balon never needed, but who had inherited everything anyway.

“What did you fucking say to me?” He said, eyes snapping up challengingly as Maron sat forward, his hand tightening around the handle of his axe. His guard was all the way up in moments. It was impossible that this boy knew what he had said into the wind before he had committed patricide and then blamed it on his uncle Euron, and yet here he was, uttering the last words of a dead kraken. “Who are you, boy? Where did you hear those words? Utter anything more on the subject, and it will be you who will need to be able to hold your breath a long while.” 

Interesting, Jojen had never been able to find this out before, so the Ironborn were also advancing with the time, in their own way, but it was good to know. Perhaps, centuries down the line, they may even manage to quell the animosity they held towards his people. Though before that it seemed he had a little explanation give, though he’d be careful with that he told.

The other reaching for his axe did nothing to Jojen, today was not the day he would die, and the Ironborn man, Lord, now he recalled would not take his life. “I told you, My people see a great deal. Some are blessed by our Old Gods and I am one of those people.” he paused, stared straight into Maron’s eyes with his piercing green gaze and continued, “I dream many things.” Including this man killing his father, the act itself didn’t frighten Jojen, nor did he think it worth sharing, but he knew he wouldn’t have been shown the action unless he needed to be. Right now he hoped it was because he needed to speak with this man, to learn something from him or even for them to work towards a common goal, he’d not know unless he continued to speak.  

“I am Lord Jojen Reed, you are Lord Maron Greyjoy, The Reaper of Pyke,” he spoke the other’s name without having to be told it, “Son or the late Balon Greyjoy.” Jojen blinked slowly, “So, with the explanation given, might we continue our conversation?” he asked, even if the Greyjoy wished to simply harm him it would be a foolish move, the Reeds were valued allies to the Starks who they were currently allied with. He smiled, “I can do that, we swim a lot in the swamps, I can manage over two minutes.” A feat he was quiet proud of, “What about you, My Lord?”

[greeneyedreed]

dayned‌:

One of Emilya’s favorite spots was before the fire: listening to the crack of the flames and feeling the heat on her skin. She had always been a lover of it - that had been how she had her first vision, the vision of her son, back when she was nothing but a slave looking for a way out. As the war approached, Emilya did her best to stay focused on flames. She spent hours every night gazing into them, waiting for her Lord of Light to show her something, anything that would be of any use to her Queen. But she had only seen trivial things: her son, over and over and over again, the army of the dead marching towards them ( which they already knew about ), and of soldiers falling in the battlefield. No faces, no names, nothing that could give them an upper hand. Only things that were not to be avoided.

Until tonight. As she gazed into the flames, feeling the heat kiss the soft skin of her face, she saw a young man with a long face and blonde hair. She no doubt had seen him before, she could recall him asking her about her Lord of Light. It had not dawned upon her that she had never asked him anything about his gods or not… But clearly, something was interesting in this scene before her, for her Lord to be showing him to her.

The boy sat before a fire himself. Quiet. For a second, nothing happens. But as she watches further, she realizes precisely what’s happening: the boy himself was having a vision. Perhaps it was why he was so keen on asking her about how she felt after these things. But before she could gather much more information, the images fade back into flames, leaving her cold and aching - but oh so curious.

Standing from her crouched position, the Priestess gathered her skirts in her hands and without so much as a veil on her head to try to protect her from the cold, ran out into the chill of the open air. Curious eyes dart around the surrounded camp, trying to determine where she had seen him. Where or where had the vision taken place: she conjures up the memory of the images correctly and begins heading in the direction of a lonesome fire. Following her gut instincts, she was eventually brought to the young man, alone, seemingly thinking. She approaches without much warning, dipping her head in greeting.

“I believe our gods wish us to work together, young Sir.”

The healing tent was somewhat larger than his own so after the Maester left Jojen took his chance and snuck into the camp, he hated the place and was more than his ‘carer’ held no love for his people. His entire body still ached and judging by the few lingering looks he received as he moved further in Jojen suspected he looked no better than he felt. It was very slow going but he eventually found a space by a fire and lowered himself gingerly to a seat by the fire.

He took in a slow breath and enjoyed the light and warmth of the fire, he’d sleep better out here than he would in that tent... perhaps he could bring some of his blankets out here and do just that. He was debating the journey back to the tent when he noticed a figure approaching. Jojen looked up bleary-eyed and it took him a few moments to recognise the one who spoke, it was the priestess, the one who he’d asked about the Lord of Light. A frown crossed his brow at her words and after another moment he nodded his head in kind.

“While I’m certainly not opposed to an alliance, My Lady. I must as why Your Lord believes we should work as one?” In all his readings he’d never heard of people of the different faiths coming together in such a way.      

[greeneyedreed]

princeofxwhitelies‌:

Jojen was smaller than Theon, and likely wouldn’t offer enough weight to really strain Arrow should they both settle at her back. It would be more comfortable, and safer for that matter, to remove his saddle and leave just a leather pad to cushion them. At least that way if Jojen felt the need to lean against him, he could without the rim of the saddle posing an obstacle. 

Theon nodded to him. “Rest tonight and I will return for you at dawn.” He rose to leave, saying nothing more on his thoughts of the Starks, though Jojen’s words had left a considerable impact on him. He would not place himself beneath the direwolf banners as if he belonged there, but Jon was always a welcome presence to speak to. For now however, he would return to his own men and settle for the night where he knew he belonged.

As soon as sunlight began trickling over the frozen ground, Theon was up and tending to his mare. She munched on her hay as he loosened her girth and freed of her of her saddle, something that earned a sigh of relief through her nostrils, and he draped a fur skin over the leather pad that remained secured to her back. Her reigns were pulled over her head as he tugged her along, and she followed obediently, walking through the groups of men gathering their belongings and stripping tents until they arrived at the maester’s wheelhouse.

The maester had gone back to fussing at Jojen it seemed, and Theon tilted his head forward as he stepped inside. “Are you able to walk or do you need help?” 

Jojen was hoping Theon would simply say it was too much trouble or strain upon his steed and then he could stubbornly go back to walking and hope his body wouldn’t give out before they reached Winterfell. As it was... His hopes were dashed as Theon promised to return for him come the sunrise.  

He nodded, somewhat reluctantly and quietly spoke, “Very well, thank you Theon.” And as the other left he grimaced as he settled down onto the bed and hoped sleep would come. When it did it was full of hot-visible flashes, war, battle, a familiar cape and a sword through his body... It was not a pleasant evening’s rest.

He woke long before the sun rose but gave up attempting to sleep and instead heaved his aching body from the bed and dressed in his full attire. When the Maester joined him he was less than impressed with Jojen’s desire to move but considering he was portraying no signs of illness save for his extreme fatigue the Maester reluctantly allowed it, grumbling all the while about the oddity of the ‘swamp people.’

“I can walk.” Jojen said, quiet determination in his words and he grit his teeth and forced himself to his feet, his legs unsteady as a new-born fawn but managing to move him towards the mouth of the tent, “You don’t have to do this you know, I can walk-” His words would’ve likely had more impact if he hadn’t half collapsed against Theon the moment he drew level with him.  

[greeneyedreed]

thesteelstag‌:

“Uh-um yeah.” Gendry nodded as he mind went to one person before he thought of anyone else he had met since he arrived. “It isn’t like steel- trickier to work with,” Gendry admitted to the younger man, finding it easier to talk about work than his own life. “But we’ve seemed to work out the issues. Sort of learning as we go- have plenty of arrowheads and daggers but the other stuff is harder.” If there was a threat forcing him to work faster then the smith would have liked to learn more about the new material but he knew enough to make weapons for those fighting. 

“Oh,” he said as he tried to recall what little he knew about the North to make more sense of what the younger man was telling him. “So you are a Lord then?” Gendry asked him, because all he knew of the North was Winterfell, the Starks, and the Wall.

The slight stumble before the ‘yeah’ caused Jojen to tilt his head; he was often rather blunt in asking questions he wanted to, but since he was trying to make a good impression he held off. “I suppose between that and the speed the forces need them there’s not time for grand ornamentation or inlay.” The weapons he’d seen were good for battle but hardly like the ornate blades he saw some other lords wearing.

Jojen nodded, “I have that title, but others rarely treat me like one. My people are called the Crannogmen, Southerners and even most Northerners consider my people to be bog-devils or mud-men.” he shrugged, “And so we’re rarely spoken to with our titles. To be honest I prefer avoiding gentry if possible, save the Starks, they respect my family, and we shall always remain loyal to them.”  

[greeneyedreed]

Casually eyeing up a third character...

EDIT: App Sent

[greeneyedreed]

houndisdead‌:

The kid was definitely moulded from a different kind of clay than the rest of the folk. Sandor couldn’t quite tell what it was – could’ve been his way of speaking and the words he said, could’ve been the almost threatening look in his eyes or the sheer fact that he didn’t run the other way after talking to him – but he knew he wasn’t going to get rid of him for a little while now, so he might as well learn to appreciate the company… to the best of his abilities.  

“Here’s a lesson for you, kid,” Sandor spoke after a moment of silence, finishing the last bite of his meal and reaching for his cup filled halfway with some cheap ale the men were sharing around the camp. “If you want to survive, you will learn to stop trusting other people. Good or bad, you never know when the time comes for them to leave you, whether they deserted you on their own accord or died saving your sorry arse. Knights, maidens, dogs and monsters – we all fucking die. Except for the worst ones.” Sandor took one more drink and closed his eyes, cursing under his breath. “The worst ones always live.“

“Excellent advice,” Jojen nodded, “Though I have little need to worry about keeping myself alive.” he explained quietly. The Old Gods moved him as they needed as just as they showed him what would come and what he been so too was her certain they would show him his own beginning and end in preparation of the time. He’d only spoken to one other Seer, but he had told him much the same many years ago.

“I have some survival instincts though. I follow them closely.” That was why he remained sitting at this table, speaking to this man others seemed to fear, they were akin in that regard. “We shall all die, and the worst shall die alone.” Jojen knew that even if he survived all that was to come and he died alone he would never be truly alone; the Old Gods were with him and so too were the memories of all he’d seen. “Do you believe you shall die soon then?” he asked bluntly, tilting his head, gaze never wavering.

[greeneyedreed]

krakenskiss‌:

“I suppose there are many who bear your people little love in these parts.” Maron snickered. This little swamp wretch was a long way from the Neck, and seemed not to be surrounded by any of his own. “Aye. A salt wife and a rock wife - only a rock wife can be a woman born of the Iron Islands - to be a salt wife is a position too lowly for our own people. A man can have as many salt wives as he chooses, but only one rock wife. A woman may take salt wives too, if she wishes, but not a rock wife.” It was all plain as day and night to Maron, who had been raised with no alternative to the practices his people had been following for as long as memory allowed. These mainlanders would not understand, but that bothered Maron little. 

This boy’s questions were starting to bother him, however - he was reticent to trust so much poking and prodding into the practices of a group of people he presumably did not like. As a man who cast judgement on others so easily, Maron found it hard to believe anyone could be curious just for the sake of it. 

“Smart boy.” Maron said, his tone unkind. “It is not our way to be so far from the sea, and it is not our way to aid the people of the mainland. But, a common enemy comes for us all.” A heavy sigh escaped his lips. “We must do what we can. I would not have my people preyed upon by whatever it is that’s coming from the snows, even if that means marching with Northmen, and Westerners, and Crannogmen.” A black chuckle escaped him, mean and malicious. “My father is probably rolling around in his watery grave to see the kraken of Pyke flying amongst these banners.”

“Yes, that’s correct.” Jojen nodded slightly, more than aware of he and his people’s status in the hierarchy of the land. He listened as Maron explained the way salt-wives worked and nodded, while he by no means agreed with the process he could look at it more objectively as wanting to merely be more aware of the different ways of the lands. On a purely clinical level it was interesting to understand, “And what of the children of Salt Wives? Where do they come to rank in your people’s land?” he asked, “And you do not hold any negative thoughts to woman taking lovers their own sex?” It was much the same in the neck but from what he’d learned it seemed most other lands treated the practice with a great deal more fo the taboo.  

Jojen was completely unbothered by the other’s tone, the longer they spoke the more came back to him, the Old Gods never showed anything without a strong reason. “We are the most aligned we have ever been in the face of a common enemy.” Once it was finished he doubted they’d be able to march home without in-fighting.

“Your father?” Jojen’s gaze narrowed, that was it. The other’s words cemented all he’d seen in Jojen’s mind, “Yes. I know of him.” he paused slightly, piercing green gaze squarely on Maron, others too engaged to overhear as he quietly spoke “It should have been you under Lord Mallister’s blade, and it should have been you that Ned Stark stoke away north. The Drowned God punished me by leaving you.” The words hung heavy in the air, Jojen spoke them since he assumed the Old Gods wanted Maron to know his actions were known. With that done, he simply carried on, “As a man of the sea you must be able to hold your breath a long time, can you?”

[greeneyedreed]

bastardmadeofstone‌:

THE BOY MADE JON CURIOUS, he was very knowing for a boy of his age. “We may have more in common than you think.” He frowns, thinking of Reed’s travels with Bran, travels Jon wished to know more about. “Thank you, Jojen.” He was continuously telling himself that this would end up okay, that they would defeat the Others. He easily could’ve been wrong. As long as his hopes were high, he could try to lead them through the war. “Do tell me of your travels with my brother, if it please.”

Jojen tilted his head slightly, watching Jon with his piercing green gaze, “What else do you believe us to have in common?” he asked quietly. A small smile appeared on his face and he shook his head slightly, “You need not thank me for speaking truth, Lord Snow.” he explained, “Lord Bran, my sister and I travelled far beyond the wall. He needed to be trained there,” he explained, “We encountered the dead in our travels and barely escaped with out lives. A group aided us.”

[greeneyedreed]

thesteelstag‌:

“Well I’m sticking around,” Gendry shrugged. He couldn’t speak to the others- he hadn’t seen any leave but he also hadn’t seen much outside of the forge so it wouldn’t surprise him that some would leave as the threat became more real. He was making the weapons that were said to kill them so he thought of little else besides of what was ahead in the North. 

“Larger- if I can get the dragonglass to work right. I want something heavy and I can sort something out if the dragonglass doesn’t do what I want,” he replied. “Thats North, yeah?” Gendry asked. He had grown up in the capital all his life and never thought he would have left the city had he not been ordered to. But even then he felt lost during most of their travels and had others leading him- he knew Winterfell but very little about anything else about the North. 

“That would make two of us.” he said with a small nod. The Old Gods had need for him to be here, he knew that was true and as a vessel to their needs could do nothing but follow as they commanded. “Have you found any companions in your time here?” Jojen asked, wondering if it was just as hard for others to engage with other groups.

“Does the dragonglass work differently than most metals?” he asked, curiosity getting the better of him once again, “It does look different from it all.” he pulled the small dagger Theon had give him from his belt, “It seems at once rougher and more fragile.” Though he doubted such a description made sense. “It is.” he nodded, watching Gendry carefully, “We are guardians of the entrance to the North, our home is a swampland.” That was one of many reasons other places looked down upon them.

[greeneyedreed]

princeofxwhitelies‌:

“If there’s a time to learn, it’s now.” Theon pointed out with a touch of amusement. “You’re welcome to mount my mare, she’s well behaved, even more so if my hands are at the reigns.” She was also fast, a bit high-strung at times–but there was no need to make mention of that.

So many times other people had told Theon where his place was, and still he wasn’t sure of it himself. He thought it pretty certain after reuniting with his brother, but his Uncle placed doubts, and now Jon even seemed to reassure him he was more Stark than anyone ever gave him credit for. Jojen was repeating it, giving him both hope and doubt, and to his dismay, confusing him more about where he was truly meant to be and who he was meant to be at that.

“For now, it is.” He said in agreement. “I’m here to fight for him and defend Winterfell, but afterwards…” He hated thinking about after the battle, and was now considering survival to be unlucky given what choices he would have to make. “The alliance between my house and his will end, and then it won’t matter.”

“I...” he paused to think on it, “Perhaps. Though I refuse to do so unless it’s a last resort.” he eventually said with a small nod. “I wouldn’t want to take position of your house.” he paused again and added, another idea coming to mind and he immediately felt as though it were too duplicitous.  

But... it may be necessary, “Would it be possible for us to ride together? That way you can keep me from falling and you shan’t need to walk?” They could talk too, Jojen needed to ensure Theon came to be at the right place come the right time; if he could speak with him as they travelled perhaps he would be more likely to manage that. Something in him rebelled at the idea but... if it would save their king, and perhaps Theon too, he hoped he might be forgiven.

“Afterwards is uncertain,” Jojen said with a small shrug, wincing at the movement of his aching muscles. “We control what we do in these moments up to it, Theon. I know I hope to go into this with no regrets.” he smiled slightly, “Wouldn’t you like to be the same? Take advantage of these moments.”  

[greeneyedreed]

xwyllamanderly‌:

The thought of the crannogman sprouting gills surprised a laugh out of her.  “Yes, well, I should certainly hope that I’m less combative and ignorant than a southron soldier, at the very least.”  The smile stayed on her face, warm and relaxed, where only a moment before there had been dismay.  Wylla had needed that laugh more than she realized.  Perhaps she now owed Lord Jojen a laugh in return, and she would do so happily; such a debt was hardly a burden.

Her confusion mirrored his, and she started at his suggestion that her health was poor.  “I…no?  I’m both hale and hearty, but…”  And a moment later, his meaning sunk in, and she gave a huff and a toss of brilliant green hair.  “It has never been a calling open to me, no matter how often I have begged.  Archery, perhaps, when I could divert my mother’s attention enough to practice, but I’m hardly a match for even the greenest of archers in the Northern host.”  Spots of angry red burned on the apples of her cheeks as she paced a bit, hardly noticing that her restless energy had spurred her to movement.  “It is infuriating.”

Jojen nodded, that she was, and more. He suspected his sister would rather like her country, there were many people amongst all those who hated them that he thought she would like to meet, and who would like to meet her... He truly hated being apart, even if it was to do the work of the Old Gods. “That you do My Lady, you’ve mountains more intelligence than a great deal of them I assure you.” he said with a small nod, his smile equally small, though genuine.

He waited, curious to see what her reaction would be and at his confirmation Jojen was remained quiet for a moment before speaking, “Among my people, woman do battle, they train and fight. My sister protects me; no one makes me feel safer.” he said quietly, “If I might be so bold, My Lady, we shall soon be marching North to do battle with an army of the dead who could very well destroy us all. Should you wish, I know some decent folk who may be willing to train you further?” he paused and added, “As for your mother... Well, I have come to find that in extreme matters such as these it is more prudent to ask for forgiveness than permission.” he said, a slight wryness to his tone.  

[greeneyedreed]

lcdyblackwood‌:

“Hm,” She hummed softly, knowing exactly what that was like. Since the day she was named Lady of Raventree Hall, her thoughts and worries rested over her head like a dark cloud. In times when it was darkest, when she doubted the Old Gods and everything she had been taught, Jojen had lended his ear and his counsel. The least she could do was offer the same. “I’m happy to hear your thoughts, whatever they are.” Clara told him. “No one should carry their burdens alone.” At his nickname, she laughed and shook her head. “I would agree with that servant. It is a fitting title. Jojen the Little Grandfather. I think I might like it better than Lann the Clever.”

Far beyond the wall. She couldn’t even imagine what that was like. Snow and a perpetual winter-y scene, much different from her green and reverent home. It was where their enemy had come from. What sort of place could house an army of the dead? She shuddered to think of it. “I was and I am.” She said, her eyes lowering to her gloved hands. “I don’t believe I ever thanked you for allowing me to lament my troubles. I truly hope I didn’t bother you with them.” He had been the only one she had truly told of her doubt. Her shaken faith in the Old Gods was slowly being repaired, but it would never be what it was before. Devout, unquestioning, naive. Now she questions the spirits that lived around her and their reasoning for allowing such atrocities to happen. Her icy blue eyes darted over to him at the mention of the Walkers. She took in a shuddering breath. “Oh,” She simply said, feeling rather silly for the response the moment it left her lips. “Are the stories wrong about them?” She hoped they were.

“I would that they were so easy to share.” he sighed, “They are not yet concrete, explorable able things. More akin to a sense of dread becoming weightier by the day. I fear,” he paused and walked a few more paces before continuing, “I fear some misfortune is upon the horizon, and not the one we are marching towards.” He had learned to trust such feelings when they came upon him, his father had always encouraged him to as well, so he found himself bogged down in his own worry. He offered the lady a small smile and a nod, “The Stark’s seemed to find it rather amusing, and my sister.” He had rather enjoyed it as well, he would like to see that servant again.

“Though I would not claim it as grand as Lann the Clever.” he added after a few more moments of walking. “I believe it is those who follow the Lord of Light that speak: the night is dark and full of terrors.” he paused after a moment, “I am beginning to think we all carry night and day within ourselves, dark and light. Perhaps your dark reigns now, but it shall not remain forever.” he raised a hand slightly in a dismissive gesture, “You need not thank me for it. I was happy to have hopefully offered some respite from it all. Do you still question the place of the Old Gods in your life?” he was not a priest of a preacher, it was not his duty to seek out others to follow in his beliefs, merely to offer his opinions when called upon. He turned to look at her when she asked her question, pausing for several moments, playing through his memories of that terrifying encounter. “That depends, My Lady, there are so many stories; which have you heard?”