RHYMES WITH PAIN

it had been the shouts of laughter that had drawn her outside into the cold, hoping it might go some way to cheering her. instead of joy, lyarra had only found pity for the children born into war, and who may die only ever knowing such a life. they deserved better, as all the young ones did. they deserved a safe world to grow up in, and to live to see the adults they would become. but life, as she had learned early on, was rarely fair. the best they can do for them now, is protect them as long as possible from the darkness slowly creeping up on them all.

“someone ought to be.” lyarra steps up beside her old friend, offering a fleeting smile in greeting but her eyes do not stray long from the sight before her. as she watches the young boy try over and over again, it’s impossible not to think back to her youth. of which jeyne had been so present until they’d all gone south. the beginning of the end. “do you remember being that young? it feels like eons ago now, i feel as if i am hundreds of years old.”

                   Lyarra Cerwyn was a soothing balm. From the very moment that she had escaped Ramsay’s nefarious clutches, her feet could not carry her fast enough as she ran from her prison. The first face to make her smile and shatter her had been Lyarra. The weight of her experiences had exploded in her chest, and every hidden feeling and fear which she had kept locked away for months poured out. She had cried until there were no tears left when her throat was hoarse and her body was exhausted from the effort. It had been some time since then, but she was constantly reminded of her own friendship with the other Northern girl.

❛  There was surely a time when life was that simple but I cannot recall it, ❜ she lamented sadly, allowing her features to crease momentarily into an expression of longing. Very quickly she regained her composure, a hardy Northern girl, and not so much a delicate flower.  ❛  I cannot say that I ever picked up a bow. I did not like to get dirty. ❜ Days were spent in Septa Mordane’s charge, sat beside Sansa as they practised their sewing and their harmonies. 

The sable-haired woman looked out of the window, observing the activities which were taking place in the chill. One boy was practising his archery, and it reminded her of when the Stark boys used to practice with Ser Rodrick.

❛  He appears to be enjoying himself, ❜ she commented to the person beside her, eyes never leaving the young boy who appeared to be growing more confident with every attempt. He had yet to fully hit the target, but that did not seem to deter him. ❛ The innocence of children, ❜ Jeyne added with an almost melancholic sigh. She remembered when she was that innocent, back when she believed that nothing could hurt her so long as she had the protection of her father’s sword and the friendship of Lady Sansa. 

    it  was  time  to  unite.  no  matter  how  much  some  doubted  it  ,  jaime  was  no  fool  .  there  had  always  been  a  magic  about  westeros  ,  something  dormant  ,  waiting  for  it’s  day  —  peculiar  as  the  skulls  of  old  dragons  beneath  the  keep  .  no  matter  how  robert  had  chosen  to  do  away  with  them  ,  jaime  had  seen  them  in  all  their  glory  before  ,  present  as  he  had  taken  the  life  of  the  last  dragon  KING   so  he  could  no  longer  terrorize  the  smallfolk  .  he  knew  little  of  the  man’s  daughter  aside  from  her  name  &  the  woman  who  bore  her  ,  unlike  the  wolf  pretender  who  had  once  held  him  captive  .  if  they  were  required  to  work  together  ,  his  cautious  eye  would  remain  affixed .

         for  now  he  played  the  part  ,  HANDLESS  but  dutiful , loyal  to  his  own  .  tommen  was  young  and  cersei  needed  protecting  ,  her  preference  for  barbs  never  keeping  her  far  from  trouble  .  with  sword  on  his  hip  ,  jaime  welcomed  himself  to  the  outdoors  &  the  setting  sun  ,  stealing  a  moment  of  peace  in  between  guard  shifts  .  when  he  realized  he  was  not  alone  ,  a  greeting  came  easily  .    “  good  evening  .  “

//   open  starter  !

          For a moment her breath was stolen away from her. Jeyne never considered herself to be meek, but she was not beyond fear. Her time in King’s Landing had shown her that. The first time she had witnessed a joust, she had been overcome with emotion and had to be soothed by Septa Mordane, as though she were an inconsolable infant, upset with the world. It’s something which she had blushed about the next day. But the next time she saw death, Jeyne waited until she was in her chambers before she cried into her pillow. 

The appearance of a Lannister lion was enough to cause a chill to slide down her spine. She had heard the rumours of what Ser Jaime had done to Lord Stark, it was enough for her to hold contempt in her dark irises.  ❛ Good evening, Ser,  ❜ she mirrored his words, features voided of any warmth.  ❛ There is no warmth left in the sun.  ❜ Jeyne was used to the cold, in fact, she welcomed it most of the time. But they had been warned that with the cold came an undead army, and that was hard for her to reconcile with.