honor, not honors

j e y ne of the north house westerling honor, not honors

[wnq-writers]

And I still hope you will come back some day…

gassssp, writing prompt #65: write a ten-word-story (via wnq-writers)

@domerics

[wnq-writers]

He can’t allow her light to be deterioted by his darkest demons, they are his for a reason, not hers.

wanna-be-nomad (via dullhypotheses)

@krakenskiss

[jeyneofthewesterlings]

krakenskiss‌:

Maron’s shoulders relaxed when the elder brother’s name was uttered. If what Theon had said bore merit, the krakens of Pyke owed the rightful lord of the Dreadfort a great deal. The Drowned God had not been able to watch over Theon so far from the ocean, but somebody had come to his aid. “I will always carry the guilt with me that I was so far from home when Theon took Winterfell. I should have gone to stop him, but I owe Domeric Bolton a great debt for what he did for my brother. I have never met him, but I am inclined to agree with you.” Sons were not their fathers, Maron knew that to be true more than anything. 

It was not lost on Maron, the way her lips curved up at the mention of Domeric’s name. Perhaps he was the nameless man the Old Gods had given her after so long, the man she had spoken of last time. He would not pry, though things were beginning to add up. 

“It’s nothing.” He offered a small smile in reassurance that he was fine, though he thought it might not have been as convincing as he hoped. “I am a stranger to myself a little too often these days. That’s all. Being on the mainland was messing with me, I think.” Maron always thought all the talk of ironborn being weak the further from the sea they were was more superstition than truth, but every step he took away from the sound of the waves felt like a bad omen. “Nothin’ good happens this far inland, or this far north. See?” He asked, motioning towards her hand and smiling a little brighter this time as he untied the bag attached to Snowfall’s saddle that he recognised as being her bag of healing supplies. The stream that ran past the edge of the clearing was edged by grassy flats, and Maron sat down cross legged with the bag in front of him, waiting for Jeyne to join him, and tell him how to help in equal parts.

“You can only regret so much before you go mad,” she said quietly, compassion tinging her gaze as she looked over at Maron, pleased to notice he had relaxed somewhat. “You and Theon have each other now. He seemed quite pleased with that when we spoke last.” Her lips twitched at the corners. “Did Theon tell you he took me on his ship?” she inquired. It had been a day she’d treasured; there was a soothing nature about the sea and Jeyne hoped she’d have reason to see it more.

Talking of Domeric with Maron seemed wrong somehow, though Jeyne was not certain why that was. But this was not the time to think on it, on the way her stomach twisted into knots at the thought that she may have said something disappointing. She inclined her head, the smile on her face becoming a bit less pronounced and she exhaled. “He’s a good man,” she offered, hoping that would be the end of it.

There was no reason not to believe Maron when he said he was fine and so Jeyne did, though she thought his tone was less convincing than it might have been otherwise. She would not pry. “I can imagine you miss your ship,” she said softly as she looked around them, hearing the stream babble to their side. A thought entered her mind and she furrowed her brow. “Is the Drowned God only found in the sea?” she inquired. “Or is he found in freshwater, too?” She moved closer and sat down across from Maron, her legs tucked over to the side as she held her hands out. “There is a needle in there wrapped in cloth. It needs to be sterilized, either with fire or with liquor of some type. You need to pierce the blisters and let them drain. Then apply witch hazel to them,” she nodded toward the bag. “Followed by a balm that’s in a glass jar. They should be ready for bandages after that.” Her lips twitched again. “And do not worry about hurting me. I do not scare easily.”

[jeyneofthewesterlings]

princeofxwhitelies‌:

His eyes widened in slight surprise. “Does he? I’m glad to hear it. I always imagined I would be the one to repay Ramsay back for what he did to me, but I think it would be far better if Domeric got ahold of him first.” He could tell she had been close to him at one time, and wondered now if this was the source of her affection she had mentioned before on his ship. It was confirmed as she went on, admitting to loving him, and it made Theon smile in her direction.

“I hope the two of you reunite sooner rather than later.” He told her, settling under her touch once more. “You have a beautiful heart, and he’s a lucky man to have won it.” The pain he felt in his joints was starting to fade with his rest and her soothing movements, and his smile only widened at her sweet words. “The same could be said for you Jeyne, and I pity the fool that ever decides to give you trouble for he will find himself at the end of my brother’s axe or staring down the shaft of my arrow.”

Jeyne nodded. “Perhaps, though I think that regardless of how much one is a monster, the gods often look unfavorably on kinslaying.” She could not disagree with Theon entirely, of course, for she had just heard what Ramsay had done to Theon. She sucked in a breath. “Your brother may want to repay him back as well, if I know him at all.” Maron, she had come to learn, could be rather reckless when the mood struck him.

Her lips curved upwards at Theon’s kindness, at the hopeful thought he had for her. “If we do not, it is enough to know he is alive,” she mused, giving voice to thoughts that had echoed in her mind in recent days. “Five years is a long while. We hardly know each other anymore.” She lifted one shoulder in a shrug. She did not give her affections easily, though she had spent several years wishing for a man’s life. Now that she didn’t need to, it was somewhat disconcerting. “But I thank you for saying so, Theon.” Her smile grew wider as she looked at him and she exhaled slowly at his next words. “It seems strange, does it not?” she inquired. “That we have only recently met and already our lives are so changed.”

[jeyneofthewesterlings]

@xwyllamanderly Northern Camp; along the Kingsroad

The light was low in Jeyne’s tent and the candles flickered. Traveling on the road has been difficult since her mishap with Snowfall’s reins. Tonight, however, her hands seem mostly healed and she had invited Wylla to sew after nightfall. It was somewhat makeshift, as they sat on her bed, but Jeyne knew she could not be picky while they traveled.

They’d had a night or two like this before and Jeyne has a couple of new wardrobe items thanks to Wylla and her patience in teaching Jeyne how to design a dress. It is a useful skill, one Jeyne will be pleased to hone once they reach Harrenhal. This evening, however, she had a shirt in her hands that clearly did not belong to her. When she’d last ridden with Maron, Jeyne had noticed that his tunic had a couple of rips in it. It had not taken much for her to insist on taking it to fix and she had retrieved it before supper.

Her lips turned up as she looked over at Wylla. “How are you finding the travel?” she inquired. “I had never thought I would be happy to say that I was going to be in Harrenhal soon. It is difficult to be traveling like this. Even when I traveled with the Northmen before, it did not seem this abrupt.” Her lips quirked at the corners.

[jeyneofthewesterlings]

princeofxwhitelies‌:

Fingers slipping into his hair was a sensation he hadn’t felt since he was a child–when his mother would seek to soothe him during the rough tussling of storms. It was unexpected, and made him flinch instinctively, as affection was not something he often received and touch often drew a nervous fight or flight reaction. It took him only a moment to relax, his eyes drifting shut, and only reopening to return his gaze to her when assured she was not judging his appearance. He used to be such a vain boy…and now he could barely stand the sight of himself.

He knew he had changed in many other ways as well, his confidence and arrogance had been trampled to dust, leaving a man that was quiet, distant, and in many ways broken. It was people like Jeyne, and of course Maron, that continued to hold his fractured pieces together. 

“I always thought them as punishment…” He admitted softly. “At least, Ramsay had always made sure that I understood it as such.” Sometimes he would make Theon beg for the punishment, because if he refused to do so, he would still receive it, only tenfold. 

He could see in her eyes that she knew Domeric’s name, and while he was curious about what past they might share, he dared not ask. “Domeric Bolton was taken prisoner while I was there, apparently familial disagreements led Ramsay to betray his own blood, though I’m not certain of the entirety of it. I was free of my shackles periodically…and I dared not insert myself where I didn’t belong.” Perhaps it would have been wise to listen in, gather information, but he had been beaten into submission and feared learning more than he should. “Domeric helped to clear my mind, and aided me out a passage to freedom. We split ways once we cleared the range of the dogs. I haven’t heard from or seen him since.”

Her heart hurt at the thought of what Theon had gone through, at the thought of what Ramsay Snow had put him through. Her jaw tightened, but her gaze remained soft and when she spoke next, she kept her tone level. “He is a monster,” she told him. “And I can only hope he will eventually be brought to justice.” Jeyne exhaled lightly, her hand still in his hair.

Jeyne had not asked Domeric for details of what had transpired in his time away. He’d been gone and then he was back and for a woman who had spent years worrying about his safety, it was enough to know he was alive. She was surprised to know he’d been taken by his brother, to realize that he’d helped Theon escape. For a moment, she was quiet, thinking over all he’d told her.

Shaking the shock off of her face, Jeyne offered Theon a slight smile. “He’s still alive,” she said with a lift of one shoulder. “And now leads the Bolton forces.” She shook her head, her thoughts going back to the moment she’d realized he was alive, to the astonishment, to the relief, to the tears she had held back for five years but had finally allowed to spill over her cheeks. “It was a shock,” she said quietly. Theon had told her his secrets; she could trust him with this one. “I’d thought he was dead for so long.”

She was silent for a time, gathering her thoughts, and when she spoke, her voice was soft and tentative. “Praying for his safety was the first time I ever prayed to the Old Gods. They thought I was silly, the Northmen. Thought I was trying to court their trust. But I wasn’t. He’s a son of the North. It felt right.” Jeyne sucked in a breath.

Her hand began to card through his hair again, the gesture soothing her just as much as she hoped it was soothing him. “And even though I did not know you before, I love him even more for helping you get to safety.” She smiled. “I have not known you long, Theon Greyjoy, but already I cannot imagine my life without you in it.”

[jeyneofthewesterlings]

princeofxwhitelies‌:

He breathed out slowly and leaned forward, closing his eyes against the hand at his head. “I’m fine, it’s nothing more than the wet and cold setting in and making me ache.” He was concerned it would pose a problem when it came to fighting given how ruthless the cold was further north, but he was sure there would be something he could take to ease the pain, especially if Jojen knew concoctions that could increase energy–something he would surely be trying at some point to ensure it actually worked.

His right hand cramped and he curled the fingers, attempting to warm them through the glove. “I have old injuries…similar to Maron’s shoulder I suppose…and sometimes they remind me they won’t completely heal.” He carefully plucked each finger of the glove away and drew his hand from it, exposing a missing small finger and the heavily scarred digit alongside it. “Courtesy of Ramsay Bolton…I assure you the rest of me doesn’t look much different.”

His brother had witnessed a decent bit of the scarring along his torso, and he was careful to keep it all hidden from everyone else. Ramsay’s treatment of him was mere rumor to most, the details only known by the men of the Dreadfort and Theon himself. He was highly self-conscious of it, and even now he averted Jeyne’s gaze, knowing she’d likely seen far worse but not wanting to witness a reaction regardless. “For months he did this…” Theon sighed. “Cut, burned, flayed…” He winced, eyes shutting as flashes of that damned dimly room came back to him, Ramsay’s sneering grin, and the glint of his own blood on a knife. “Had it not been for Domeric I would have long perished there.”

Jeyne bit her lip as she nodded, wishing there was something she could do in order to take away Theon’s pain. There were some remedies that she supposed would help with the aches, but she would need to make them first. “I will send some tisanes to your ship when we return,” she promised. “And perhaps a paste.” She pulled her hand away from his forehead and allowed her fingers to move through his hair, hoping that the action would soothe him in the way it had always done to her. For all of Sybell Spicer’s machinations, she had provided comfort to her children. Had the Starks denied Theon this as well?

As he spoke of his injuries, Jeyne listened, nodding. She had heard of his capture, but she had not known how truly despicable it had been. As Theon showed her his hand, Jeyne’s jaw set. It was not often that she felt true rage toward other humans, where she wanted to rip their organs from their bodies, but when it came to Ramsay Bolton, she supposed she could make an exception.

It seemed important that Theon know his body did not repulse her, that she did not think him less of a man because he was no longer completely whole.

“I am more concerned with what he’s done to you as a person than what he’s done to your body.” Jeyne’s nostrils flared and she looked at Theon, her eyes softening. “You survived, Theon. That is more than many can say about...” She paused. “I do not know if there’s a word to describe how perfectly inhuman he is.”

Her hand continued to card through his hair, and she sucked in a deep breath as he spoke more of what Ramsay had done to him. It horrified her, that someone could take such pleasure in ripping people apart. “Your scars prove you persevered, that you came back to your family,” she murmured. “If you would like me to, I will research more and see if there’s something that can help ease the pain you must feel from them.”

At his last comment, Jeyne’s hand stilled in Theon’s hair. “What do you mean?” she inquired. “About Domeric?”

[jeyneofthewesterlings]

krakenskiss‌:

Maron dismounted his own horse, leading her off to the side with one hand, and leading Snowfall by her reins in the other so that Jeyne would not have to put any more pressure on the raw skin of her palms. The sound of a river rushing through the countryside alongside the road grew louder the further they stepped away from the noise of people, and he tied the horses to a tree when it came into view. 

“Why’s Lord Bolton goin’ round giving you horses?” He asked, voice thick with dread that she spoke of the younger of Roose Bolton’s sons. He had no quarrel with Domeric, in fact he owed him a great debt for the hand he played in Theon’s escape, but he would sooner see the Night King prevail than to know that Jeyne was in contact with Ramsay, that they were close enough to exchange gifts of horses. “The elder or the younger Bolton?” Of course, Jeyne was a woman grown, and was more than capable of looking after herself, but he had seen the effects of letting the Dreadfort lords too close thanks to Theon’s trust. 

“You’re going to have to tell me what to do. When we used to get blood blisters on the ships we’d just worry at them until they split and cover then with whatever rags we could find - methods that would make any healer balk, I’m sure.” He laughed, turning to help her down from Snowfall’s back so her hands did not pain her. Maron frowned ever so slightly, trying to come to terms with when he had become so thoughtful, so considerate of another’s pain. Perhaps it had come from Jeyne’s care of his own, or perhaps her innate kindness was rubbing off on him - either way, he was not sure he welcomed it entirely. 

Jeyne was thankful for Maron’s assistance and her lips quirked as he began to lead her horse off to the side. There was something endearing about him taking care of her when she was in pain and not for the first time, Jeyne was dismayed at the difference she saw between the man she knew and the rumors she often heard. But she had never put much stock in rumors.

A small smile grew on Jeyne’s face at Maron’s question and she held back from replying with the candor she had become used to after living with the Northerners. Because he spent some evenings between my thighs. Because he is not the monster his brother is. Perhaps because he realized we were both outsiders serving a Stark. “I had need of one,” she said quietly, her lips curving up. She did not speak of Domeric often, rarely used his name, and it was only after Maron’s second question that she realized he’d thought she meant Ramsay. The thought made her lips twist and her gaze softened. “Lord Domeric,” she responded. “We were friendly before he went north. He was trusted perhaps only marginally more than I had been, after his father…” she trailed off, shaking her head. “He is not the man they think he is.”

“It may be better to drain them,” Jeyne admitted, though she was loathe to do so. It invited infection, most of the time. “If I’m to be riding a horse the rest of the journey, they’ll likely break anyway. It would be easier if they were drained and bandaged. I have some items in my saddlebags.” She allowed him to help her from the horse, somewhat surprised at the care he was showing her. It was rather endearing, and she squeezed his hand with her uninjured one when she was back on two feet. “Thank you.” Lips twitched at the corners, oblivious to the inner workings of Maron’s mind and it was only when she saw the slight frown that she tilted her head to the side. “Is everything alright?” she inquired.

[jeyneofthewesterlings]

so what the fuck was that?

[jeyneofthewesterlings]

on a train ride to visit my cousin to watch the finale together tonight! i’m h u n g o v e r  as all hell because i was at a wedding last night, so replied will likely not come until tomorrow.

i won’t say no to distractions on discord, though! [ Bee#7687 ]

[jeyneofthewesterlings]

princeofxwhitelies‌:

She had become by far the easiest person to speak to, each encounter coaxing Theon to open up a little more. He hardly ever uttered about the estrangement he felt during his time in the North, fearful it would sound like a justification for his actions when he wasn’t seeking excuses. He had made his mistakes, and better choices could have been taken, but it was all in the past now and he only sought to move forward from it. Only Maron had ever told him the North had wronged him, as he was still far too consumed with the anger of Theon being taken in the first place. Jeyne, with her outside opinion and current loyalties, left the most impact in defending him.

The rest of the voyage was peaceful, Theon occasionally piping up with random memories of his childhood that he could consider pleasant–most of which, did not involve his brothers. He spoke of his mother and her lovely voice, the way her gentle hands would caress and comfort as opposed to his father’s verbal and sometimes physical lashings. He mentioned his sister, Asha, and how he remembered play fighting with drift wood that washed upon the shore. All little glimpses of fond occurrences that outlined a life he had missed desperately. 

When they arrived at Dragonstone, Theon made good on his word and after ordering his men to ready the load of dragonglass awaiting them, ventured off with Jeyne in search of whatever plants and herbs she was seeking. He was not familiar with any plant growth this far south, but her descriptions were easy enough to follow, and he ventured his way back over a steep rocky outcrop to offer her another bundle he’d discovered. 

By now, stiffness was starting to show in what had been a relatively smooth gait. His limp was heavy, and he neglected the use of his right hand to favor tugging at plants rooted in the ground with his left. The cold air rolling in over the sea mingling with the heavy moisture was eating at old wounds, making joints stiff and muscles ache, and before long Theon was forced to sit to spare himself of the pain traveling up his left leg. “Give me a moment before we continue, else I can catch up if you would like to move on.”

There was something relaxing, about being on the water, and talking with Theon came as easily as talking to Garrick. She felt no need to hide behind her healing or her Westerlands accent and Jeyne found herself smiling as they conversed. It was strange, she thought, to become so close to men whose families had done so much harm to her homeland. And yet she knew that she could no longer imagine her life without either of the two young krakens.

Jeyne enjoyed the wind on her face and wrapped the cloak Maron had given her tighter around her body as the gusts of winds became stronger. But though her eyes wandered over the water, her ears were focused on Theon. She enjoyed hearing about his childhood, what he remembered from the Iron Islands, and Jeyne thought it good that he’d known he was loved by his family, even if he’d never felt loved by the Starks. In turn, she told him a bit of her upbringing, of her father who encouraged her love of the healing arts, of Raynald, who always took her outside to play even when Mother had forbidden it. It was nice, she supposed, to speak of her family for she had spoken little of them since she’d lived among the Northmen.

Jeyne did not like Dragonstone, thought the rocks treacherous and the stone unwelcoming. But she ignored the castle itself and began scouring near the trees and plants, picking flowers and herbs she could use for her poultices and tisanes. She was thankful for Theon’s help and made sure to point out what she was looking for as she took cuttings and petals. There was more there than she’d originally thought and Jeyne had to be clever to make sure that the basket did not become overfilled.

As Theon sat, Jeyne’s eyebrows rose and her head tilted to the side. “Are you alright, Theon?” she inquired, moving closer and setting the basket at her side as she looked at him. He looked as if he was a man in pain and though Jeyne knew, in a cursory sense, that he’d had a bad go of it, she hadn’t realized he still had lingering effects. Jeyne reached her hand out to press the back of her hand to his forehead, wanting to ensure he didn’t have a fever.

[jeyneofthewesterlings]

allyria-of-starfall‌:

“Yes. And for that, he has been declared a traitor.” In spite of Allyria’s support shifting from the Lannisters to the Dragon Queen, she still could not see how such a union could be allowed. He had technically become an outlaw. The members of house Dayne did not wish to associate themselves with criminals. And for that, she agreed. The Dornish woman did not feel like she needed such a husband, his past would always haunt him, that was not something she could ever make disappear. It would be better for her reputation to find another man to wed. “I cannot marry him anymore.”, she added.

At her friend’s question, Allyria shook her head. “No, there is no one I have feelings for.” She would never become that close to a man, she had the tendency to keep them at distance, preferred to reserve her affection for the man who would become her husband. “It actually depends on my nephew. He is now the head of our house, he should make the suggestion. I have no one on my mind and I don’t even know where I could start. The current political situation complicates the matter of betrothals.”

Perhaps she had been with the Northmen for too long. Or perhaps she had seen too much of the Lannister cruelty over the years. Either way, her lips thinned as she looked at Allyria, understanding her friend’s words but not necessarily agreeing with them. “Any man can be declared a traitor by one queen and a hero by the next. It is the privilege of kings and queens,” she merely stated, her voice placid. She had no desire to argue, especially when it was Allyria’s life choices and not her own. Still, she thought it rather sad, to be so worried about the political ramifications of each action. “I am certain you will marry eventually,” she said, hoping her voice was more encouraging.

Inclining her head, Jeyne understood what her friend was saying, that she would not marry for love. Perhaps it was better that way, she supposed, as they walked. “The current political situation complicates much of everything,” she agreed with a soft chuckle. “And with the plan for everyone to move north,” she trailed off with a shake of her head. “It will be prolonged more, I expect.”

[jeyneofthewesterlings]

krakenskiss‌:

Maron was not an expert horseman in any capacity, though his uncle had made sure he had learned the necessary skills as a younger man, and he craved the freedom he felt aboard his ship instead of this seemingly endless trek through the countryside. He knew he had to be here though, to ensure his men and women were treated properly, and in turn that they did not cause too much trouble here amongst enemies-turned-allies. The Fleet would meet them in the north, laden with weapons and supplies for the battle, and Maron’s men would cleave themselves a place at the table for when all this was said and done. 

Having company on the ride made a difference, though he often chose to ride alone when the agitation of being so far from the sea made him intolerable, and intolerant. Jeyne, at least, did not begrudge him his faults, and he was finding her company to be as easy as his own. She stuck out like a sore thumb amongst his ironborn, but they had come to accept her presence here riding amongst them as Maron’s friend.

“Nobody would think that. You look like a bloody warrior maiden of song on that white beast.” Maron laughed, pulling on his own reins to halt his black draft horse and move out of the way of train, causing Snowfall to follow. He recognised the blood blisters immediately, so similar they were on Jeyne’s dainty hands to the ones he had often from pulling too hard on the harsh rigging of the ships he had grown up around before his hands had become as callous as the rest of him. “Come, we should see to those before they get worse. We have a long ride ahead of us still, and you cannot very well put your healing hands to use if they are raw and bloodied.” 

She did not think the Ironborn knew quite what to make of her. Jeyne had grown up in the Westerlands, still remembered when the Ironborn had besieged The Crag. And yet she had helped their leader for no reason other than she wished to take away his pain, offered her services to the Ironborn if they came to her. But even if they could not understand her, or her motivations, Jeyne had not heard any words of derision that had often followed her in Northern encampments. [ If she allowed herself to think on it, Jeyne could recognize how strange it was, that she had saved the King in the North’s life to be tolerated with whispers and glares while she’d taken away pain from the Lord Reaper of Pyke and was treated better by his people, if only because their tolerance came silently. ]

Jeyne allowed herself a soft chuckle at Maron’s words and words of explanation bubbled up from her lips. “She has been a good horse, though I did not choose her myself,” she acknowledged with an incline of her head. “My palfrey died when I first joined the Northmen and Lord Bolton gave me the horse of a bannerman who had perished. Apparently, he did not believe in naming horses, so Snowfall she became.” Her lips twitched at the corners. “I am lucky I can mount her myself with how large she is.” Jeyne was thankful for her willowy stature in that regard, for the muscles she had built up in her arms that allowed her to swing over her horse with little assistance.

Her lips twitched at the corners. “I’ve had blood blisters before,” she murmured as she looked over at him. “There is little we can do for them here.” Jeyne knew she’d need to soak her fingers in warm water and bandage them; draining them was also an option, though it was not one she wished to attempt on her own. She looked back up at him, her expression softening as she realized how ungrateful she sounded. Jeyne bit her lip and inclined her head. “I would be thankful for any assistance you can offer.”

[jeyneofthewesterlings]

swcrnsword‌:

By their very natures most Northerners tended to be somewhat suspicious of newcomers, set in their ways and there was little doubt in the warrior’s mind that he could be just as guilt of such things as the rest of his Northern kin. His observant, perhaps even paranoid, nature lent itself well to ensure that nothing slipped past his notice when it came to protecting his King but it was something of a double edged sword when it often meant that he struggled to trust in those he did not think had proven themselves worthy of it. The Little Healer, however, was not someone he felt had anything left to prove. Leaving her own family behind her to do what she thought was right seemed demonstration enough to him that she was worthy of placing faith in. It showed a great deal of bravery and conviction that was an endless source of admiration and respect for her.

( if nothing else the fact that she had healed their King an continued to heal their men should have been enough to quiet any whispers about her. if not he would be the first to use a glare to do so )

Stoic features curled into a grim smile, head nodding at her words. “You are right there.” She was about most things, the warrior thought. A wise head on such dainty shoulders but he valued her quiet observations and gentle words. The solider in him could not help but plead with her, knowing that for all it might have seemed barbaric he could sympathise all too well with his brothers in arms who struggled to set aside visions of war in this time of fragile peace. “Though I must ask that you do not think too harshly of them, Jeyne. Most of these men have done nothing but fight for years, it is hard to turn such things off.” Words rumbled slowly from his mouth, quieter than usual when he hated to ask for things from her. Expression brightened somewhat at her question and he moved further into the tent. “Unless I hear trouble I will happily stay.”

Large strides closed the distance between him and the ale, pouring a glass for the both of them before extending it her way. “I am glad to see that our lessons have been paying off.”

She had never expected the Northmen to truly accept her, not so quickly, but even after half a decade, some men still glared and others took advantage of the healing services she offered. Another woman might have turned back, might have gone back home with her proverbial tail between her legs. Not Jeyne. She had been lucky to find Garrick, to have been taken under his wing. Men still whispered, of course, but few would say something disparaging to her face and certainly not to her back if he was within earshot. He had been a blessing. And Jeyne was thankful each day.

She could hardly think of them too harshly, for she knew that they knew little else. It must be disconcerting, to be living in a war camp with no imminent reason to fight. At home, a man could have his peace, his family, other reasons to keep him from needing to kill another. But here, with little to do, it was obvious tensions ran high, especially among men who would not otherwise be allies. “Aye,” she responded, her voice low as she looked at him. “I can only hope that when this is all over, their families can provide a respite.” The smile she offered Garrick was a genuine one and she could admit that she was pleased to hear he was to stay with her for awhile. She liked their chats, the time spent together, and he had easily slotted into the empty hole Raynald had left when Jeyne had joined the Northmen. It was because of him that Jeyne knew how to wield a dagger and swing a sword; the former was strapped to her thigh while the latter remained in the tiltyard.

Jeyne took the cup of ale from him, lips turned upwards in response to his jest. “They have been,” she parroted back, her head tilting to the side playfully. “Though I will admit I can hardly tell the difference between different types of ale.” She had taken to the soldiers’ beverage as a shark took to land, though Jeyne had persevered, not wanting to be seen even more uppity because she refused to drink ale.

“What news from today?” she inquired, curious as to what the plan was now. At some point, they would need to leave the Crownlands and, if she was being honest, Jeyne was looking forward to that time. She hoped for the Riverlands, hoped she could sneak off to Seagard for a sennight to see her father before they made it all the way north.

[jeyneofthewesterlings]

@krakenskiss The Kingsroad

Snowfall, her courser, was steady under her thighs and Jeyne was thankful for the breeches she wore as they rode through the Riverlands toward Harrenhal. While they were further east than she would have liked – Jeyne still hoped to traverse to Seagard to see her father before they ventured even further north – she could see the few remnants remaining of autumn. Winter had come upon them and she could feel the chill in the air with each passing day.

She had rather expected that Maron would be on his ship, though she supposed it would be difficult to represent the Iron Islands’ interests from the water. She had chosen to travel with him today, her hair loose and the cloak he had given her wrapped around her form. “It is strange to be riding so much again after so long,” she admitted with a wry smile, tilting her head to the side as she looked over at him. Her legs would need a salve tonight, though at least the breeches had saved her from the worst of things.

As Snowfall moved over a fallen branch, Jeyne changed her grip quicker than she should have. The reins tightened around her fingers faster than she could move them and she winced, biting her lip as she used her other hand to adjust the reins. Removing her glove, Jeyne saw that the reins had caused blood blisters to form on two of her fingers and she shook her head. “You’d think I’d never ridden this horse before,” she said as she shook her head in disbelief over her error.

[jeyneofthewesterlings]

princeofxwhitelies‌:

Shameful was one way of describing it, more so after Theon had held to the pride of where he’d come from only to be the subject of endless teasing that made him quite the bitter child. Robb at least, had been kind to him, but even he was not without his reminding words of Theon’s true lack of belonging in Winterfell. “Politics…” He muttered. “My father’s rebellion sought to be free from the confines of said politics, but his means of fighting lost me one brother and led me to believe the other dead. Being alone in the North was not how I wished to spend my years, but I suppose it could have been worse.” Had Ned Stark been a lesser man, Theon could truly have suffered at the hands of his captors.

“I attempted to defend my house at first, but the backlash was enough to drain me of those arguments, and in time, I came to care for the Starks as if they were my own. They felt like family, and even those of Northern blood came to reflect a kindness towards me I had not found in my own father or brothers.” Oh but he could still remember the sly stinging words of the Lannister dwarf mocking him, bringing back that old bitterness he’d tried to bury long ago. “Damned either way perhaps. Robb had told me I didn’t belong. Not your house, not your duty, he’d said, and so I kept wondering what was.” And then he’d arrived at Pyke, to a dismissive and uncaring father and a sister whom he shared his blood with. That had been his house, and it had been his duty, and his heart had truly longed to reclaim his name and birthright rather than turning his back on it and facing harsher ridicule. 

“I’m not sure what path I was ever meant to take.” Theon sighed, and still, he felt lost. He had his desire to do the right thing pulling him back to the Starks, but his brother seemed to urge him to stray further away from them, and it only further construed what was right and what was wrong. 

Being here, on this ship, was the only thing that seemed to fight the desire running in his blood. Perhaps Maron was right…perhaps he should move on.

“When we arrive, I’ll help you gather what you need, if you like. The crew will be busy loading, so we will have plenty of time until we make sail again.”

There was a bit of a chill on board, though Jeyne ignored it, pleased to be on the water as the sun beat down overhead. Even so, she was pleased to have warm clothes and her cloak. Her eyes moved toward Theon. “Aye,” she responded. “I suppose it could have been. But that does not mean they treated you with the honor they so often espouse.” Honor, not honors. The Westerling house words reverberated in her mind and she bit her lip. “Depriving a boy of his heritage is not honorable, no matter how many reasons you may give for it.”

Her heart ached as Theon spoke, as he talked of thinking of the Starks as family only to have that love, that bravery, thrown in his face. While Jeyne had always known that Robb Stark was not a saint, it was difficult to hear the truth of things from Theon. Her hand reached out and she squeezed his own, tightly, offering him her comfort and support. “He is good to his people,” she said quietly. “But he does not often understand empathy…perhaps he has never been given the option to do so. The North can be quite insular.” She shook her head. That was no excuse. “But that does not make it right.” Jeyne exhaled, heavily, as she looked up at him. “You were a boy sent from home, away from family, and reminded of that fact every day. It was not…” she paused, gathering her thoughts. “It was not right. I am not of the North but if I were, I would apologize for how they wronged you.”

She felt for him, understood quite well what it meant to be unsure of the path ahead, which to take. “I do not think many know which path to take immediately,” she murmured. “And you still have time, you know, to choose who you wish to be. Your actions are not innate and you are far from old.” He would not be defined by his failings. She lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “At any rate, your brother is surely pleased to have you near, to make up for the time lost,” she said with a wry smile, remembering her conversation with Maron days ago. “I imagine he is quite jealous he was not the one to take me on my first sea voyage.” She reached up to touch the fur lining the edge of her cloak and allowed herself a small smile.

Theon’s offer made her smile widen and Jeyne’s lips turned upwards at the corners as she looked over at him. “I would like that,” she responded as she inclined her head. “Help is welcome and your company even more so.” The words were genuine and she looked back out over the water as they moved closer to land.

[jeyneofthewesterlings]

xwyllamanderly‌:

A blonde brow rose at the name ‘Bolton,’ but Wylla did not press this point for now.  There were far more interesting things to discuss than men.  “Snowfall?  What a delightful name, I like it.  And it shall be as you say, breeches for riding, perhaps even with something in the way of padding, for longer distances.  Do you ride sidesaddle, my lady?”

The goldsmith in question was at last before them, though Wylla did no more than peruse the man’s wares at first, offering Jeyne the bulk of her attention.  “I would imagine there is a greater margin for error when stitching wool or silk.  There is no great loss, besides perhaps in patience, if a stitch is imperfect in cloth.  On flesh?  I’d wager the stakes are somewhat higher, though naturally I defer to your greater knowledge.  I can’t imagine stitching a merman’s trident on a laceration wound, but perhaps Ser Emory or Ser Robbet would seek to show their loyalty in such a way.  Sers?”  Wylla glanced at her knights with a teasing smile, beaming all the brighter when Ser Robbet manfully suppressed a roll of his eyes and Ser Emory let out a long, long sigh.  “Apparently not.”  She muttered, speaking quietly to Jeyne with laughter in her voice.

“As for mothers, I doubt there is a noble mother alive that would not ask for more social courtesy from their daughter.  Fluttering eyelashes and modest eye contact seem to be as great a sport to them as the tourney is for a knight.”  Wylla gave a shrug, running her finger absently over a sturdy golden cloak pin.  “But can I assume that your father was even pleased with your choice?  Or was it more akin to apathy?”

She nodded, a genuine smile rising on he face at the compliment. “Aye, it seemed appropriate to name her such. The man who owned her before did not believe in naming horses.” An eyebrow rose at the question and Jeyne inclined her head. “I can do both,” she stated. “Riding with an army is rather slow-going, so sidesaddle is not so difficult at the pace. But when I wish to go faster, I prefer to ride astride. It is not so abnormal among these men, I have learned.”

Jeyne thought Wylla’s sense of humor rather different than most of the people she had met thus far and her lips quirked at the corners. “You are not incorrect,” she agreed. “I do my best to make sure scarring is kept to a minimum, but I do not always have the luxury of time.” Lips twitched at the corners and she inclined her head. “Though it is not as if men wish for seashells to hold together their wounds.” If she was to receive wool, Jeyne imagined she would be able to embroider quite well. Silk was the most frustrating to work with, especially if stitches need to be ripped out; the holes never closed properly.

“Aye. My mother prefers to play games with higher stakes,” she acknowledged. Fluttering eyelashes would never be enough when a crown was a possibility. Jeyne tilted her head to the side as she considered her words. “My father was understanding,” she said quietly. “He is a guest at Seagard and I have seen him several times. He understands my reasons, even if he does not always agree with my conclusions.” Privately, Jeyne thought that her father had long ago known his wife would do something to break their tenuous familial bonds apart.