𝑷𝑹𝑶𝑻𝑬𝑪𝑻𝑶𝑹

       >> 🌻 <<          SHE CAN SMELL THE SCENT OF    blood on the weathered bear.   he wasn’t much of a talker    (    until he    talked    an ear off    )    but he did at least specify when the belief was that she was exhausted.    she wasn’t,    in truth,    thus she felt the excuse falling on her was so that he could    HELP HIMSELF    from falling apart.

        ❝        HONESTLY    I FEEL FINE.   i’m more concerned about you,   sire witcher.   is there anything i can   HELP WITH    .  .    ??        ❞         

“Ah, just drowner nips. Shouldn’t be too hard to patch up. I’m low on Witcher potions, but I can make more if you’ll patch up my leg. Unless you’re well versed in Witcher potions?”

He takes that last question as a joke, assuming most of his knowledge. Whether she knew or not wasn’t an issue, he was hardly trusting of other Witchers to make his potions let alone anyone else. 

        Petyr is drunk, a drunken fool is perhaps expected to embarrass himself, but behind Catelyn’s pleasant smile, lies a righteous fury,  how dares he be so bold? your vows you’ve broken like my heart, why did you so enrapture me? To suggest Catelyn had EVER promised him anything… Gossip is a dangerous thing, for women in her position, was he hoping to sow the notion among the northern lords, that she was not a maid? that she was not good enough for Brandon? 

          “Pay him no mind, Ser Jorah, My father’s ward, always drink too much, at  festivities.” the last bit is all but Spat, her bright blue eyes casting a withering Glare in Petyr’s direction. her hand, finds the crook northerner’s elbow, and with skirts flowing, she guides him away form the mocking bird. 

           “Lets talk of something more grounded in reality, such, as gnarls, is it true that such creatures cannot swim, and therefor never settled on bear island?” Of course, Catelyn does not believe in Gnarls, but she wants to make it clear that Petyr’s  supposed status as her lover, is as untrue as creatures form old wives tales.  

“Consider him ignored,” Jorah says, smiling to himself and turning away from poor Petyr. Jorah had never liked the man much, considering Jorah barely liked anyone south of Bear Island. Not that there was much south of Bear Island and north of the wall. Perhaps Jorah just liked the company of bears, his aunt and little cousins included.

Jorah laughs at Catelyn’s question, walking with his hands behind his back. He can’t help but smile at the thought of gnarls...grumpkins and snarks on Bear Island. “No, no, no, my lady. All we have are bears. Bears and my Aunt Maege, and some claim she’s more fearsome than a bear. No ne’er-do-well or creature of any kind would dare challenge her. If they di, they would be quite foolish. I’ve seen her capabilities with a longsword.”

@standbetween​​ asked: ❝ quite the gripping story. ❞

hearts of stone starters | accepting

“There are more where those came from, I can assure you,” Jorah said, the merry sounds of the Herald’s Rest comforting him as he sat amongst the Inquisition. The Herald had done a great many things to make Skyhold livable. Jorah liked it. It was better than his other experiences. The camps at Ostagar were so threadbare, and the memory alone of Ostagar made the old knight bristle.

@dragcnsdaughter​​ asked: ❝ there are certain things even i can’t meddle with. ❞

hearts of stone starters | accepting

“A wise observation, khaleesi,” Jorah advised, looking over at the woman who had grown into quite the queen.

@mothereddragons​ asked: ❝ so, you were listening. ❞

hearts of stone starters | accepting

“I always listen to you, khaleesi,” he says far too fast. He will not fail her again, and yet, he fears he will. He had been listening to her since their first meeting. He hung on every word she said, and he would continue to hang upon them until the day he died.

lily of the valley

this is the poison of giving too much. you feel yourself emptying out, dizzying, discoloring-- until you fear you will fade entirely and wither away. you have always had to give. you never had a choice before. they pluck your flowers for their beauty, they trample your leaves carelessly, they pull out your roots by the fistful and berate you for daring to grow. and now that you have a grove to spread out in, your rhizomes tangle and curl in on themselves. when cruelty is all you've ever known, thriving seems impossible. but the answer is not to make yourself small and offer every lovely thing you are to the world in the hopes it will have mercy on you. the answer is to let yourself dare to thrive for thriving's sake, to grow in the wild ways you wish to-- and to do that for yourself for once.

tagged by: stolen from @goldenngore​​​

“Your lover makes a passionate plea,” Jorah snarked to the Lady Catelyn Tully. She was beautiful but far from his type, her hair a bit more copper than his preferences. But father had encouraged him to talk to her at the very least. She was going to be his vassal lord’s wife, after all. Of course, Brandon Stark was perfect for her. At least, he thought so.

Petyr Baelish desperately recited poetry to Catelyn while Jorah stood beside her, taking in the pretty summer festival. Northern houses were expected to attend. So. Jorah attended.