WINTERS / WIDOW.

Catelyn was no fool, she was well aware her arrival would herald a great deal of interest and many would seek her out, not all her allies regardless of what they might say; pretty words were yet another kind of poison, even now.  She walked head up, back straight and with purpose, unwilling to stop and engage with any but her son lest she was sought out and spoken to directly. She saw many cow as their eyes met her own briefly, yet it seemed one was brave enough to bid her a greeting.

She came to a pause and looked at the girl for a moment before recognition shone through, “Lady Cerwyn,” she dipped her head slightly in kind, though maintained her rather more severe expression rather than a smile she hadn’t the strength to conjure. “I highly doubt my being here shall have such an impact, my son is far more a herald for hope than I.” she said with a sigh, “I am here to see how I might assist in this movement, and assure all who may need it that Winterfell is ready to receive the army.”  

“we are pledged to king robb, and we gladly honour that vow.” lyarra would have followed the eldest stark no matter what, it was just fortunate that he had grown into a man worthy of following. “but it is the stark family that so many northerners have place their trust in. your family that gives us hope.” all her life she had been ferried from one marriage to the next, being pulled further from her home every time. and yet it was the starks woes that had helped tether her to her home - praying they would all be reunited, that she would see them whole again when she could finally return home.

the northerner nods then, gesturing to the other side of the camp. “have you sent word to robb? i would be glad to show you to the stark tents if you have not yet been told where to go. it’ll give me something to do rather than drive myself half mad waiting.” the travelling was fine, nice even, to get out in the open knowing they were a step closer to home. it was the constant stopping to set up camp each night that had fast become weary.

@bastardmadeofstone / jon snow

the hours of sunlight were fast fading each day with the imminence of winter. lazy summer afternoon’s seemed a distant memory now and darkness would soon be all they knew. all of which added to the looming fear that had followed all of westeros since the summit had begun. lyarra had since discovered that her own ill ease was soothed the further away she got from crowds. all the false words of victory and hope meshed with quivering cries of defeat had driven her to the edge. hence why had found herself far from the travelling hoards in a spot beneath a willow by the rushing stream. lazily firing arrows into the tree adjacent in an effort to clear her busy mind.

yet as the last arrow on hand lodges itself into the trunk she is alerted to another’s presence and her dark eyes soon find a head of curls she remembers from her many visits to winterfell. though it has been far too long since she had seen them in person. “you’re much more important now than i when i saw you last, snow.” the lady of cerwyn’s lips twitch into a brief wry smile as she relaxes once more now she knows there is no threat. “you look so much older. i suppose we all are.”

@browncyes / jeyne poole

though the smile she dons is pretty enough, impatience sits barely hidden in her dark eyes. for the last hour she had been entertaining the riverlords who had thought it their duty to make friends with their northern camp neighbours. unfortunately their conversation was dull, and their patronising tones duller still. her tolerance was waning and had an escape not presented itself to her in the form of an old childhood acquaintance, words may have been said that she would come to regret. “lady jeyne!”

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.”

it might be the freedom that had coursed through her veins since the day they departed dragonstone, or the ale that young soldiers had offered the two ladies, but lyarra was truly content in that moment. surrounded by friends and faces she had grown up with, all together for once, drawing more than their fair share of looks from those not accustomedto the northern revelry. it was as if the closer they drew to home, the more it bolstered them all. yes death may be lurking round the corner, but at least they were no longer crowded into a castle with their enemies. and it did give her vast amounts of joy to see the southerners struggle with the rougher terrain.

lyarra just barely manages to suppress her laughter at the other’s outburst, only a short hum of amusement leaving her. “is that not a husband’s true purpose?” the young lady’s brows raise, a playful tilt to her lips. “most of mine were no more than fancy suits of armor meant to display a sword.” growing up she had made acquaintance with both the manderley sisters, all noble daughters thrown together as expected, but she had never taken to the elder as she had to wylla. their spirits were too bold, too free, to find much in common with the other. though she had respected her pragmatic mind so similar to her own. “i think i can imagine the look on her face, though perhaps you might reenact it for me?” she suggested with a teasing grin.

“your grandfather ought to be commended, for her freed that poor woman from a lifetime of dreary dinnertime conversation.”

Alys has often said there is nowhere she feels more at home than on the back of a horse. Countless hours, days spent on horseback, travelling between Karhold and Winterfell or wherever else her father saw fit to visit made her comfortable on the road. As war and death tore her world and her family to shreds, her spirited stallion had remained a constant. Whenever she could get away from her duties as Lady of Karhold, both at home and at the summit, she had gone straight to the stables. It’s always calmed her, helped her focus - much needed, at the moment. The presence beside her unsettles her, makes Alys think of days past, of races through the forest with the girl she had called sister. Perhaps it is the excitement of going North, of going home, that causes her to speak, to attempt to mend the chasm between them.

An unladylike snort leaves her before Alys can stop it. They have spent so long hoping for the opposite, hoping the Lannister forces proved as informidable as possible. Relying on their strength for the upcoming battle was a strange feeling; putting faith in the men who had killed her brothers made Alys bristle. The thought of her brothers sent her mind into dangerous territory, and Alys shook her head minutely to clear it. To bring up such topic, to even think such thoughts was dangerous, with the tenuous peace between the two ladies. “There is strength in numbers, if nothing else,” she agreed. “Though It does make travelling rather …. chaotic. And slow.”

astra had been her constant companion for as long as she could remember. a gift from her father it had been the horse that had carried her to first wedding, and every one since. all the death that she had left behind, and yet her pale white mare had remained with her the entire time. perhaps she owed the animal more than she could ever voice, but at the very least she was grateful for the bond that had surely helped her retain her sanity. she had such a strong presence throughout her adulthood that it seemed fitting she be atop astra now, riding beside another who triggered so many memories from a long time ago. ones she had buried deep for even the happiest ended with so much pain.

“we’ve no way of knowing the size of our opposition, it could be we are vastly outnumbered. but if we lead with strategy and skill perhaps there is a chance.” it is the most optimistic view she can offer, never one to lie for another’s benefit. especially with ones who knew her well enough to know she was an honest woman. lyarra manages a smile then that almost verges on a laugh but no sound escapes her yet. “by the time we reach the north winter may have come and gone and perhaps the army of the dead will grow so bored with waiting they will simply leave.” it is spoken in dry jest, sarcastic drawl accompanied by a wry smile as she glances across at her former sister.

“I am glad we can agree on at least that.” He snorted, arms crossed across his broad chest as he waited for an audience with the wolven king. As one of the leaders of the Great Houses, he had as much of a place at the talks within as any of the rest of them, and yet he chose to wait it out. He had better things to do than sit around in a dark tent amongst enemies while they bickered amongst themselves about matters that did not concern him. His power was on the sea, and until the direct needs and directions of his men, women and ships came into question, he wanted no place at their table.

He was beginning to realise that standing out here amongst the northmen was not much better, however. “If you must know, I am waiting for an audience with your king, which I am willing to bet is a better reason than you have for being here.” He spat, disliking immensely having his presence here questioned in a camp where he ranked highly - presumably higher than this northwoman. 

usually a self-confessed lover of logic, it had seemingly taken a back seat the day they had departed the formal summit talks of dragonstone. there she had been nothing but a practical representative of her house, there had been no room for much else. the moment she had felt the cold winds on her face as she rode further north she had felt herself return to a freer woman, one she had sorely missed. “i am impressed.” lyarra’s tone was misleadingly serious, “i had not thought you capable of an opinion at all.”

she glances behind them then, hoping to see the entrance to the tent being pulled open but when only a cup bearer emerges she resigns herself to further conversation with one she did not much like at all. “my king? is he not indeed yours for all intents and purposes now?” lyarra arches a brow in challenge, arms folded across her chest. “given that the men within i have known since i were a child i would argue my reason is just as good. if not better.”

@lycrra

As much as Rosamund preferred a wheelhouse to riding a horse, she could admit that after a day inside of one, she was feeling rather cramped. It had been a nice enough ride, she supposed, though she’d needed to stifle her snide comments more than she would have liked. She’d always tried to be better around the Princess, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from disparaging those she’d prefer to. Now, however, they had finally stopped for the day and Rosamund had decided to stretch her legs before moving to a tent she’d share for the night with another one of Myrcella’s companions.

She’d have much preferred being in a keep than out in the open, surrounded by Northerners and soldiers from the other kingdoms. She trusted them only so far as she could see them. Rosamund sniffed as she looked around the encampment, pleased to notice that the tents were being erected rather quickly. She inclined her head as she passed a few Lannister soldiers.

She paused near a fire and, noticing another woman in the vicinity, offered a polite smile. “I rather dislike going North,” she drawled, speaking more to herself than to the other woman. “Is there anything other than a barren wasteland to find there?” If it were up to Rosamund, she’d have chosen to remain in the Riverlands.

perhaps there was something about her that suggested she was not of the north. her brothers and sister certainly possessed more of the gritty outward strength so often associated with their northern brethren, whilst lyarra appeared far softer in comparison - a vale beauty as her mother had been. the blonde stranger seemed to have taken her for such, for only a fool ( or one looking for a fight ) would purposefully rile up a countryman known to be prideful of their home.

still, she keeps her bristling to herself, continuing to warm her hands by the fireside rather than spend too long gazing upon her new companion. “quite the opposite, my lady.” lyarra replies in a diplomatic tone, “the north in my opinion is one of the most beautiful places in all the seven kingdoms. difficult perhaps for you to come to terms with when you are familiar with a... different kind of beauty in the south.” this time she does offer a smile, though no kindness is found in her eyes. she could play the role of a polite southron lady if need be.

“you are not used to so much room i take it? your people find such delight in cramming themselves into already crowded lands. it’s rather quaint.”

It was good to see family again, family that did not look at him in disappointment for his lost wife and absent fatherhood. He had not seen anyone with the name of Cerwyn in several years and it was with pleasure that he saw Lyarra now. While he kept up a correspondence with her father, they rarely discussed anything personal; if anything, the correspondence was more a means of keeping the relationship open than of real value. At any rate, Andar had no intention of breaking her confidence and he chuckled as Lyarra talked of her antics. “I am certain you are much better at concealing them now regardless,” he offered, his lips twitching at the corners as he looked at her. He had heard, of course, that Lyarra’s life had not gone precisely had expected and he was pleased that she had seemingly come out of the other side of things rather strong. He nodded as she requested he eat with her and he held his arm out so she could take it properly. “Aye, I would like that,” he stated as he began to walk toward the tent set up nearby.

Questions of Aemma nearly always brought a smile to Andar’s lips, though today that smile was a wan one. “She is in The Vale with my sister and my parents,” he said quietly. “Aemma is a good child, most days.” To be fair, he didn’t know much about his daughter’s day-to-day life and he inhaled while running his free hand along his jawline. “She likes being outside more than nearly anything.” Andar shook his head. “But she has a deft hand with a needle, or at least that’s what Mother tells me.” The cool breeze moved over Andar’s skin, providing a respite from the heat of the mines. “If things stabilize, I would seek to bring her. It would do her well to meet you. She asks of her cousins often.”

as each day passed, and winter loomed ever closer, she found herself grateful for every pleasant day that came and went. today was such an evening, hours spent under straining sunlight that had fought off every grey cloud that lurked. she takes the moments of true peace wherever she can get them, so few were likely on the horizon, and she counted a reunion with her uncle amongst the assortment. “you have so much faith in me, i do hope that i deserve it.” still, a playful smile is offered. it is not often that many still saw her as a girl. a girl that still wished to tease and play despite the wrongs that had been done to her. if that is a part she is allowed to play for a while then it is one she will take on happily, even if only for the duration of dinner.

lyarra dons a smile then she reserves only for family, of which this faceless little girl was very much to her despite having never once met her. something she hoped to change in the coming months. a little girl without a mother was sad thing indeed, but especially when one was so young. if nothing else, she hopes she might be able to impart the maternal wisdom that had been passed to her to her dear little cousin. “if she enjoys the outdoors then she is surely well equipped for our journey north. she might not ever get the chance to see such sights again.” the northerner brightens then as she serves herself a hot bowl of stew, “i’m glad to hear it, and you tell her only good things about us, yes?” a brow is arched playfully, “i’m just as excited to meet her.”

her first marriage had made her more hostage than wife. confined to the tower of her husband’s keep, only freed from her cage to twirl for the lords at dinner. to show off his pretty and shiny toy. there were few visitors in those months ( if those closest to her had seen the conditions of her imprisonment, she would not have been trapped for as long as she had ), leaving the young daughter of cerwyn bereft with loneliness. her nights were spent whispering to the stars, pleading to the gods for her freedom. but when her friends went away, and dull eyes had little to look at but the outside of her widow it was the birds that became her constant company. though they provided little conversation, there was comfort to be found in the soft twittering answers they gave as they sat on her window sill. always the same would return, enough that in her stir crazy state of mind, she had begun to believe they too carried her pleas to the gods. 

she owed them her sanity.