β β π€ππ π₯π π²π¦π‘β || πͺπ’π’π―π π―π’π’π‘::
The initial excitement and slight chaos that was caused by the kingβs return to Winterfell has subsided a little. Though everyone is still somewhat on guard with so many unfamiliar faces around, caused more by the two scaled faces who are most often airborne more than anyone else, things are settling, and everyone is preparing. Meera often curses herself and Theon for bringing a child into the world which may so soon end in an invasion by creatures who know nothing but death and destruction. But some things cannot be avoided, and she takes heart in knowing that they have dragons now, and more men. Perhaps there is more chance than ever that a world will be left behind for her child to grow up in.
The people judge her for so often leaving the babe with one of the few remaining nurses in Winterfell, but she can fight as well if not better as many a man there and she intends to do so. They seem to forget her labours are long past - only a few months short of a year ago. She knows her own mind, and in her mind all there is to do is to fight.
Meera makes her way to one of the smiths preparing weapons, intending to have her fork sharpened and the handle strengthened, when she sees heads bow for the king as he passes through. A small smile - all of one that can be mustered in present times - is sent to him, and she wonders what he can want as he approaches.
βYou look troubled, Jon,β she says in slight confusion.
βΉ β JON ISΒ TROUBLED. BUT THERE ARE NOΒ words to properly convey as to why he feels this way, for how can he describe it ? ? ? the truths he has clung to for all of these years suddenly crashes all around him and he is left in this dense mist he canβt escape. branβs words still echo inside of him, and, for the life of him, he cannot escape. he has tried to drown himself in plans, in discussing political strategies with sansa, in admiring the dragons with arya, in anything. it is as though pillars have fallen apart around him, leaving him trapped beneath the rubble. he canβt claw himself from it. he can only lay there, helplessly.
Β Β Β Β what is he supposed to make of this ? ? ?
Β Β Β Β he always knew he was no stark, but now he is not even a snow. he is a targaryen. his father was never his father. his mother, who he had always dreamed of and longed for, was dead. more than dead. how could lord stark have taken him in after all of that ? ? ? how could he have carried the child who killed his mother and raised her in his keep, protected him by giving him a new name ? ? ? but more so than this ... there is meera reed. perhaps jon could have found a way to manage with hisΒ truth, but the truth is hers, too.
Β Β Β Β now more than ever, he wishes that meera would not see him. her face is haunting as she approaches him, as well-meaning as she might be. he starts to pick apart features; those eyes, the shape of her nose. he tries to scavenge similarities between himself and her. it is as if he is trying to find flaws in branβs vision, but as he looks upon her, he sees only clarity.
Β Β Β Β β we need to talk about bran. β