true to our word

lady of white harbour. four-and-twenty.

[xwyllamanderlyx]

greydonmarsel‌:

♔  →  @xwyllamanderly

“Lady Wylla, how is the kingsroad treating you?” Greydon asked, approaching the young woman who he knew wasn’t all that fond of any word that left his lips no matter the topic. They had an interesting relationship. One might call it love-hate, but that wouldn’t be accurate. It was more so love to hate-hate. They enjoyed one upping each other with words, a never ending power struggle, and Greydon never did like to lose. 

Wylla enjoyed the freedom of being one amidst an innumerable mass.  No one would miss a green-haired girl sneaking off to practice with a sword or borrowed trident, not when so many important discussions could be had under the illusion of casual roadside banter.  Her body ached from the self-imposed training regimen, and indeed from being ahorse for more hours than was normal, but she could not deny her happiness in being constantly moving, and in every new landmark the massive host passed on its way north.

Amidst the tumult and organized chaos of the hundreds moving along the kingsroad, an unpleasantly Southron voice sang above all others.  Wylla’s expression soured, and a heavy sigh deflated her proud posture as Ser Marsel rode up alongside her.  “Delightfully.”  She said, the word drawn out and terribly sarcastic as she eyed him.  “And yourself, ser?  Have you found enough old women to charm, or are there more further on?”

[xwyllamanderlyx]

krakenskiss‌:

🌊✨ @xwyllamanderly​

Maron had been playing the ally with these greenlanders, swathed in their silks and honour, but all the while his mind was ticking, creating his next move from the position of power his good behaviour was granting him. He had a lust for power that his soul had carried since boyhood, and his new position of leadership had only fueled that fire. The kraken would start small, though to him, small was an unprecedented raid on White Harbour that would fund whatever acts of treachery that came next. Wylla Manderly was going to be his key.

The green haired girl was easy to locate, and he smiled conspiratorially to himself as he made the last adjustments to his saddle near to where she and the knights who shadowed her were preparing to ride out too. His men and women were already bristling with irritation at being so far from the sea, and at being headed into the snows, and he paused his grumbling along with them to call out to the merman’s granddaughter. “You’ve been to Winterfell before, haven’t you Manderly? You think my men are going to cope with the cold?” 

There was wind from the North, cold and biting in the weak morning sun.  The sharpness of it was welcome, and Wylla stood still to breathe in the promise of home, nearer and nearer with every step.  Already her hair was escaping its braid, wild green curls catching that Northern wind and dancing with it.  It would be a good day, and Wylla was eager to let it begin.

Sers Emory and Robbet were mounted and ready to return to the kingsroad, though she had every intention of putting space between herself and the Manderly guards once her horse had grown accustomed to the pace.  Her gloved hands were making quick work of putting the stirrups to an acceptable height when a voice addressed her with more familiarity than she might have otherwise expected.  Turning, she looked the kraken lord up and down with sharp eyes.  “Shall I join you in pretending you and your crew have not raided the Rills or Stony Shore, Lord Reaper?  That would be a merry game of make-believe.”

[xwyllamanderlyx]

greeneyedreed‌:

“What a person seems in person often pales in comparison to what other’s have had time to read and think in their own time.” he paused before adding in a wry tone, “A group of Southern soldiers kept staring at my neck trying to see if I truly had gills the other day.” He’d heard them taking bets, apparently having gills made people think he was deaf. Honestly the whole affair had struck him as rather funny. “My Lady, while I’m certain you hold the fierceness of a Direwolf you’ve already proven to be better company than most.” She reminded him slightly of Meera, they both had strength and didn’t seem to care what others thought of them.

Jojen blinked at her next statement, slight confusion in his expression, “Why not?” He asked simply, “Do you have some illness affecting your health?” It always struck him as odd woman and men’s roles were so different outside of The Neck; in his home they were equal, his sister one of the fiercest warriors of the land. “Or are the chains holding you back more societal than physical?”    

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.”

[xwyllamanderlyx]

princeofxwhitelies‌:

His annoyance with her flickered into something more akin to empathy, clearly seeing her expression shift. It was a loss that affected her apparently, and Theon knew enough of loss to not make joke of it. Perhaps he could have been considered cruel before, but that was not his way now neither in word nor action. “I’m sorry to hear that.” He was sincere, because he knew it was only the beginning. Odds were they were all bound to see the fall of someone they loved and even Wylla might have to endure a far more personal blow than the castellan.

His thumb traced the hilt of his sword idly, glancing down at the earth she’d kicked away. “I heard you met my brother. Hopefully you didn’t give him too much of a headache.” This was, in fact, his first attempt at light teasing, if only to distract her from the thoughts of death that might be on her mind. She was annoying, but he in no way hated her. “Usually his temper doesn’t bode well with a running mouth.”

Her jaw tightened against this unexpected onslaught of feeling, and she could only manage a brisk nod at Theon’s condolences.  A sharp pain started in her throat, tightness and tension borne from holding back sudden tears.  For all that Wylla had spent many weeks fighting down the loss and uncertainty this war had brought upon her house, it seemed that those few words from Theon Greyjoy (of all people) had nearly undone her.  She cleared her throat, straightening her posture and shoving all of the worry and pain far, far in the back of her mind.

At his question, Wylla raised a brow in question, her expression becoming haughty.  “He had no temper with me, unless it was skillfully suppressed.  I was freshly off the ship from White Harbour, and was scarcely distinguishable from the deckhands.”  The words were spoken with a solid amount of defensiveness, her mind immediately wondering what the two brothers might have said about her in private.  What good could Theon Greyjoy possibly have to say about her, after all?  “I believe I interrupted him at worship of your Drowned God, though it was hardly my intention.  I’m sure that if I didn’t give him a poor enough first impression, your own opinion would have informed his quickly enough.”

[xwyllamanderlyx]

lycrra‌:

CLOSED STARTERS / ACCEPTING

@xwyllamanderly /  ❝ She was tired of being in control all the time, tired of worrying, tired of waiting. ❞

“was she now?” a skeptical brow is arched but the wry smile that comes to her lips softens her. if anything she found it amusing, for she herself could not imagine the day where she would come to wait on any man. no, she had long since gone beyond that. her lips part then, blowing on the bowl of stew she cups in her hands. all around them the sounds of a restless camp erupt. no doubt most of the troops were unused to settling in so early, but they traveled with plenty less versed in the ways of war and so regular stops were necessary. no matter how much she secretly longed to see the towers of castle cerwyn on the horizon. 

after a bite is swallowed, lyarra cocks her head at the fellow northern girl. always finding great pleasure in the other’s company - for she was always quick to provide an entertaining conversation. “has anyone told this poor lady that it is not her job to look after this full grown man, but his mother’s? if she must worry so much over someone more than capable of looking after themselves i would advise her to join the silent sisters immediately.” 

There was such energy and warmth in Wylla’s blood that it made her feel half-drunk, the sensation bolstered by the organized chaos of the Northern camp and the much-beloved company of a childhood friend.  A bowl of stew warmed her hands, the smell of woodsmoke clung to her hair and clothes, and familiar standards waved in the breeze kicked up by so many campfires.  This was so, so much better than an unwelcoming fortress, with all its teeming masses and pompous lords.  Amidst the madness of the camp, it was the young and wild that still retained their energy after so long ahorse or on foot.  And now, it was the young and wild that stayed awake to trade tales and make mischief, while the older generations tumbled from their wheelhouses into an exhausted stupour.

Wylla drank in the feeling of the night, a light in her eyes that had not been present since she has arrived at Dragonstone.  A friend sat beside her, Northern blades kept them safe, and there was gossip to share, momentarily in the form of a story of one of her father’s petitioners at the Merman’s Court, some weeks earlier.

A snort met Lady Cerwyn’s estimation of the lady in question, and Wylla pressed a hand to her mouth to keep herself from spitting soup everywhere with loud, ugly laughter.  Once she had enough control over herself, she answered with barely-suppressed mirth.  “If not the silent sisters, then perhaps a widow, seeing as the husband was proving to be more decorative than functional.  In fact, I think I said as much to Wynna, and the look on her face could have curdled milk.”  There was such devilry in her voice, so much glee.  “In the end, Grandfather dissolved the marriage so the woman was free to find a man to wed, instead of a bloodsucking leech.”

[xwyllamanderlyx]

water.

The quiet, healing depths of the White Knife or the frozen sea have been a sanctuary for Wylla since her childhood.

The waters are painful in the North, even more so when the freezing water touches bare flesh…but there is a peace beneath the water that cannot be matched above the currents.  She began swimming before her earliest memories, and swims now in any waters that offer the same peace she found at home.  There is rest and solace and silence to be had in the water, and Wylla will let it consume her to balance her own wildness with the water’s temperance.

[dontletyour-memes-be-memes-blog]

Send me a word and I'll create a headcanon based on that word!

[xwyllamanderlyx]

i am emotionally bereft

who wants to talk about it

caitbee#5277

[xwyllamanderlyx]

zarrasatheredwitch‌:

“It was unlike anything I have ever felt before when I first stared into the flames and saw a vision. The feelings I felt,” Zarrasa trailed off as she genuinely smiled at the memory. She had never been happier and proud that the Lord of Light had allowed her to see what she saw in the flames. That he let her see anything. “You would understand had you been in my position but we have only just met. Sad it has taken me this long to finally meet you, My Lady.”

“It will be a challenge here,” Zarrasa acknowledged. “There are many Gods that the people of Westeros worship and the Lord of Light is not favored amongst them. I will not be trusted,” she admitted to the Lady Wylla. “Nevertheless I came to this foreign land because he showed me that I meant to be here and that I am to help with the upcoming battle.”

For one brief moment, Wylla was visible surprised, even flattered.  It passed quickly, to be sure, but the lady of White Harbour had been caught off-guard by the priestess yet again.  “Once again, my lady, I...envy your certainty of purpose.”  She murmured, though her thoughts were now wild and tumbling around in confusion.  She could have misread the woman’s choice of words, she must have, or perhaps there was a mistranslation from Valyrian.  There was no reason to mistake the turn of phrase for anything but politeness.

But, as ever, Wylla did not allow her thoughts to rest long in her mind before they sprang to her lips.  “Forgive me, my lady, but did you say you wished specifically to meet me?  Are my temper and the colour of my hair infamous even as far away as Volantis?”  It was an effortless thing to use humour and wit to hide the seriousness of her question.  And perhaps Wylla was reading far too much into the priestess’ words, for meeting a daughter of the most prosperous family in the North was a fine enough thing on its own.  But Wylla wanted it to mean more, wanted to hear that some foreign, fiery god had sent His priestess across the sea to meet one particular Manderly.

Her pride, yet again, was proving to be a very great weakness.

[xwyllamanderlyx]

greeneyedreed‌:

Jojen nodded, “A great many haven’t. Though from what they read they convince themselves it’s a monstrous place full of mud-devils, bog-demons and lizards the size of lions. None of which are the case,” he paused and added, somewhat impishly, “The lizards grow to be even bigger than lions.” And often they weren’t the most dangerous things there. “So you’re smart not to believe the majority of what you may have read.” Of course he could have visions of events yet to come so in comparison some of the tales of his homeland may not seem too outrageous.

He tilted his head slightly as the other admitted the reason behind her behaviour, after a few moments he nodded. “I understand. These are not your people, nor mine. Even the other Northern folk look down on me, not merely because I am small.” he added, perhaps trying to cheer her up with the joke, “You have nothing to apologise to me for. I find that a small bout of anger can work wonders on ones temperament, you may find yourself in a better humour now.” he added with a smile before bowing his head, “It is a pleasure to meet you Lady Manderly, I am Lord Jojen Reed and I think we can keep this between ourselves. When there are so few who will speak to me kindly I try not to make enemies out of them.”

“We should be marching further North soon, it will bring us closer home, yet also closer to the threat that dwells at its boarders.” he said quietly, “Still, if we’re to fight our last I would rather do so in my home.”

She cut her eyes at the young man, a smile curving her lips at his gentle jest.  It was kindly meant, and she appreciated it, for all that Wylla’s pride not allow her to admit again just how miserable she’d acted just a moment ago; once had been enough.  “More fool them, I say.  You seem a fine enough sort, my lord, that anyone who seeks to be unkind to you does so out of either ignorance or prejudice, though neither would surprise me, I suppose."  A shrug, and her smile became warmer, more mischievous, far more like her normal self.  “But if you are able to stand against my temper and impertinent behaviour, mayhaps you can stand against theirs as well.”

A small, happy sigh filled her at the thought of being closer to home.  “I agree that I would far rather fight and die in the North, if I ever earn a place on the battlefield.”  A glorious image of herself with a trident in hand and shield on her arm burst into her vision, and she let out a small laugh.  “My contribution, it seems, will begin and end with good wishes, for that is all I can offer.”

[xwyllamanderlyx]

jeyneofthewesterlings‌:

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.

“Ah, then it is decided!”  Wylla grinned with great satisfaction, her fingers counting off all the things they would be making.  “Split skirts for ease of riding in good, sturdy wool, linen or cotton kirtles, proper Northern stockings, perhaps a cloak with fur lining, if we can persuade someone to catch us some rabbits or find a handful of decent hides for sale here.  Cheaper to do it ourselves, of course.  And there’s gloves, and smallclothes, probably.  And laces for your boots  And if we can’t find proper tools, then you are certainly welcome to borrow mine, or we can simply craft everything together, if you are as out of practice as you say.  And pretty ribbons to wear as a garter, because we’re here anyway, and your gowns may use them for trim.”

Her voice went on and on against the pleasant hum of activity, warmth and excitement glowing from her face.  At last, she had something to chase away the idleness, and perhaps even a friend to keep her company.  It was most certainly the best day she had spent since she had arrived in Dragonstone, and would be the start of many more good days.

[xwyllamanderlyx]

princeofxwhitelies‌:

Was it possible she had worsened over the years? She’d never had reason to like him, and less so now, but her tongue still seemed to roll with a one-sided conversation of petty insults that he was quickly growing bored of. Theon had come to treasure moments of silence just as much as he did those rarities with good company, and she was certainly offering neither. Every potential kill would be well gone by now, either trotting off or scurrying into its burrow. 

“Enjoy the company of your guards then. I don’t care for bickering.” His tired eyes were already seeking the rise of smoke over the trees so that he may return to the camps, albeit empty handed. It wasn’t often that he failed in a hunt, and while it dug at what pride he had left, he was more content to return to the solace of the shoreline. A gloved hand curled around the handle of his bow, ready to be in the warmth of his cabin and out of the leathery confines. He kept every part of himself, hands included, covered when in open view for fear of them having something else about him to discuss behind his back. Rumors of the Bolton bastard’s mistreatment of him was one thing, but he would not expose the multitude of scars to confirm it.

“I would warn you no place is safe, even the camp itself given how many were slaughtered within Dragonstone when we least expected it.” But what good was his warning when she only heard what she wanted to? She was far too stubborn to take anything he said to heart, he was sure, and that left very little for him to say. 

Wylla gave a dismissive scoff at the mention of bickering, as if they were children chasing each other around Winterfell in feast-day finery.  Yes, they had been foolish little things, cruel and spiteful in ways only bored children could be to one another.  And perhaps that was part of her animosity toward Theon Greyjoy, some long-buried youthful pride still smarting after finding eggs in her boots or getting soft blonde curls cut off.

But more than anything, she looked at him and saw a disappointment, and a confusing one at that.  Children were simply sometimes hateful to one another, and they fought and teased and tortured until they grew out of such things.  The gods has been witness to plenty of vicious, petty fights between herself and Wynna, and then the inevitable reconciliation a few hours later.  But Theon?  Theon had indeed changed, but he had changed into a traitor, a turncoat...and that had never been a path Wylla could have imagined for him.  She had always thought he was an annoying, arrogant boy...but she could never have seen him becoming a bad man.

More fool her, apparently.

She was snapped from her thoughts by his words, though the conflict was suddenly obvious on her face and almost made her appear distracted.  “Yes, yes, I know...the castellan of New Castle was killed.  Ser Harland’s bones were returned to White Harbour so that his son might see him entombed, just as we were leaving to come here.  He missed the birth of his first grandchild.”  Wylla scowled down at the ground, kicking at a molehill to take her thoughts from the look on Harald’s face when he’d been told of his father’s death.

[xwyllamanderlyx]

zarrasatheredwitch‌:

Zarrasa smiled back at the woman’s polite words. She had come here with a purpose and was set on achieving her goals but also knew that some may not trust her. She was unknown and relied on the Lord of Light to show her the way and with so many around her practicing other religions it would be easy to turn away from her. The politeness could be false but Zarrasa had to act that it was true and that the Lady was willing to listen and talk to her.

“I saw a vision,” Zarrasa confessed. “The Lord of Light showed me that I was meant to be here at the summit. Showed me what was happening in Westeros and I traveled far from Volantis to be here.” It was true what she said but that was all she knew. Zarrasa knew better to seek specific detail in her visions because it was when one focused on details that they could be proven to be correct or incorrect. She knew better to play herself a fool incase she interpreted something wrong and kept her cards close at hand. 

Blonde brows rose at the priestess’ answer.  “I cannot imagine having such a certainty in my own destiny as that.  Or perhaps not certainty, but at least a compass guiding you along.”  If only things could be so easy amongst the Westerosi, with one truth and only that truth.  But it was a naive idea when put up against so many faiths and families, but the concept of a simple solution was comforting when the summit became tedious.

A snort of laughter quirked her nose, and Wylla sounded perhaps more rude than curious, though it was not her intention.  “Though one might wonder why your Lord sent you to Westeros, when His foothold here is not so strong.  But far be it from the humble likes of me to puzzle out a deity’s reasoning.”

[xwyllamanderlyx]

call for starters!  anyone want a wylla-on-the-road starter, hmu!

caitbee#5277 or on IM or reply here, and we’ll chat

[xwyllamanderlyx]

greeneyedreed‌:

Jojen watched without reaction as the woman promptly decided to storm off rather than share her space; not that it mattered to him a great deal, if she was so determined to be alone it was likely she’d find a much more secluded place than here. Still, he was not about to be uncouthly rude. “Should you wish, I do not mind travelling further and leaving the space to you. It’s no trouble.” It wasn’t as though Jojen would be missed in the main keep, if anything others would likely be grateful for his absence, lest his presence be enough to curse them.

He watched with a rather detached interest as the woman came closer, waiting to see what would come next only for her to pause before him. He felt no need to shift under her gaze and again merely waited for speech to follow. “Indeed.” he said with a subtle nod, “We’ve a vernacular all our own.” At her rather abrupt question one of Jojen’s hands rose to briefly touch the reptile skin acting as a shoulder guard, “No. It’s lizard-lion skin.” he told her, “Much more durable than that of a usual reptile.” Jojen added, looking back at her, “They’re only found in my homeland, I take it you know where that is, My Lady.” Other Northerners knew of the Neck, even if most despised its inhabitants.  

The lady gave a heavy sigh, sweeping her hand through her messy hair, the deep green braid all but destroyed by the wind and her anxious fingers.  She felt hollow in the face of her homesickness, and it made her far more ill-tempered than this man deserved.  “I have never passed through the Neck, for all that I’ve read of its creatures and inhabitants.”  Curiosity won over her sour mood, and she made a first attempt at acting decently to the man unlucky enough to stumble upon her.  “I cannot fully believe some of the tales I’ve been told of those lands, but they are fascinating nonetheless.”

Wylla’s mind had always been a mercurial thing, dashing from one extreme to another in the span of a breath.  She sighed again, arms folding tightly across her chest in the only form of armour she might claim.  Her voice was quieter, even a bit abashed, and Wylla offered a shrug and a crooked little grin.  “I am homesick.  It makes me irritable and irritating, as many of my household’s retinue might attest.  I am sorry that I struck out at you so, it was unworthy of me, when you sought the same peace as myself.  I am Lady Wylla Manderly, if you sought to tattle on me to my uncle or grandfather.  I might even deserve it for being such a brat.”

She turned again, her feet wandering closer to the edge as she looked northward.  “It’s just...a wind blew from the North, and I could nearly taste the ice and salt of home.  It was divine.”

[xwyllamanderlyx]

anyone up for some shenanigans with the new plot drop?  i have for rent or sale one wylla manderly, who will be very willing to gallivant off to find her own amusements as the body of the summit heads northward.

anyone i have current threads with is welcome to hit me up, whether on IMs or on discord (caitbee#5277) and we can either drop old threads, or plan some new ones!

[xwyllamanderlyx]

what....the actual....heck