war roars in his veins

Jeyne had been with the Northerners a long time now, so long that she’d begun to learn her niche, the people that she could trust, those that trusted her and did not look at her as if she was going to run off and betray them at the first available opportunity. Those were the looks she’d hated the most. Garrick was one of the former and, if she was being honest, had been for quite some time now. He had filled in the space that Raynald had vacated when siding with their mother and she often looked to him as she would an elder sibling. A smile grew on her face as he came to visit her and Jeyne paused in her work, having been creating a poultice that would adhere to the skin and stop bleeding nearly as well as a bandage would.

[ Jeyne spent many an hour making poultices and tisanes, jarring them all so that they would survive the long trek North. ]

“Not of late,” she responded, a small smile on her face. “Though I am beginning to believe that the idleness of soldiers is not something to be cultivated. I’ve been mending more injuries that come from arguments and lost bets than I have from anything legitimate.” In fact, as she thought about it, Jeyne realized that Maron Greyjoy’s injury had been one of the most legitimate she’d handled in quite some time. She supposed that was both a blessing and a curse, though she worried that more fights would break out amongst the soldiers and disrupt the tentative peace they had agreed upon. 

She turned back to her poultice, stirring it before setting it aside to cure. It would be a couple of hours yet before she could jar it. “Is there anything I can offer you?” she inquired, gesturing toward the flagon of ale that was set to the side. “Or is this to be a rather quick visit?”

By their very natures most Northerners tended to be somewhat suspicious of newcomers, set in their ways and there was little doubt in the warrior’s mind that he could be just as guilt of such things as the rest of his Northern kin. His observant, perhaps even paranoid, nature lent itself well to ensure that nothing slipped past his notice when it came to protecting his King but it was something of a double edged sword when it often meant that he struggled to trust in those he did not think had proven themselves worthy of it. The Little Healer, however, was not someone he felt had anything left to prove. Leaving her own family behind her to do what she thought was right seemed demonstration enough to him that she was worthy of placing faith in. It showed a great deal of bravery and conviction that was an endless source of admiration and respect for her.

( if nothing else the fact that she had healed their King an continued to heal their men should have been enough to quiet any whispers about her. if not he would be the first to use a glare to do so )

Stoic features curled into a grim smile, head nodding at her words. “You are right there.” She was about most things, the warrior thought. A wise head on such dainty shoulders but he valued her quiet observations and gentle words. The solider in him could not help but plead with her, knowing that for all it might have seemed barbaric he could sympathise all too well with his brothers in arms who struggled to set aside visions of war in this time of fragile peace. “Though I must ask that you do not think too harshly of them, Jeyne. Most of these men have done nothing but fight for years, it is hard to turn such things off.” Words rumbled slowly from his mouth, quieter than usual when he hated to ask for things from her. Expression brightened somewhat at her question and he moved further into the tent. “Unless I hear trouble I will happily stay.”

Large strides closed the distance between him and the ale, pouring a glass for the both of them before extending it her way. “I am glad to see that our lessons have been paying off.”

Gendry knew a lot about swords; he had been making them for most of his life and he had lost count of just how many he had personally made even in these last few years. He knew how to weld one but had favored this hammer of his own making but he lacked in fighting experience. He knew his strong suit was forging the weapons that others used but he desired to learn more so he could properly use the weapons he was making. He wanted to become a fighter who would be useful on the field if he was ever needed. “Lord Garrick?” Gendry said as he neared the man who was Lord Robb Stark’s sworn sword. 

There were few times that he ever strayed far from the Young Wolf’s side and even then it was only when he knew that he was close enough or someone else capable was playing guard. Flint-grey eyes had followed the man as he had approached, a slight narrowing in them as he attempted to discern whether not he was friend or foe. It somewhat surprised him when it was not his King that he asked for but the warrior himself, prompting a raise of his brow. “Flint or Garrick will do fine.” Shoulders shifted slightly as though he could shake off the discomfort that came along with a title he had never felt as though he had worn well. “Who’s asking?” Words rumbled forth as he scrutinised the newcomer more closely.

privately she thinks that westeros would have fared better off in the hands of a woman, for men seemed to have an innate desire for war and grew restless without. all throughout history the pages were splattered with the blood of innocent men sent to fight their lord’s battles and for what reason? bad blood with a brother, a temper that had ran too hot, or because taking lives had seemed the best way to prove their strength. but perhaps that was unkind of her, for cersei lannister had done a wonderful job of spilling needless blood, whilst the man before her had proved himself a just and honourable friend a dozen times over. “they think with their swords, not a brain. otherwise they might take care to listen to the many warnings offered.” lyarra’s tone is one meant to soothe, for she did not wish to stir up feelings of bitterness and painful memories within garrick. he did not deserve to be haunted.

the woman’s lips lift, and gratitude hovers for a moment between them. not many looked upon her as something that could be lethal, just the slight lady you saw at face value. tragic and weak, something to be protected. “if you say so. i do not think you capable of a lie.” she returns in jest. the northern woman sits back in her chair after retrieving the offered stone as her brows raise and a short laugh is pushed from her chest. honed and ready indeed, it was fact that lyarra always had a sharp word at hand. “you’re smarter than you look, and you would do well to remember it. perhaps spread the word, i could use the reputation boost.” as she begins the repetitive motion of steel on stone ( a soothing action when it offered respite from ones own thoughts ) she shot a crinkle nosed look his way, juvenile really. “entertained? you speak of me as if i am child you have been made to watch. have you traded your sworn sword duties for that of a nanny?”

Some of his bitterness towards those who would prolong war unnecessarily fade but not because his loathing for them would ever dim but rather the lady before him is someone he considers a friend. Not someone to let his vitriol spill all over. Jaw clenched slightly as though he could expel some of his tension through the tightening of muscles and for a moment he is convinced that it worked when it allows his next words to be more level, if still verging on a growl. “Some do not have swords to think with.” Flint-grey gaze falls to his tankard, searching for some good to speak of and it eventually comes in the form of the man that they both follow. “At least we know our King is not such a man.” For all in his eyes the Young Wolf could do no wrong, the warrior liked to think that he did not follow him blindly. He might follow him into battle without hesitation but that was because his loyalty and trust had long since been won in a way he doubted anyone else could.

Chuckle rumbled from his lips and while he could have passed it off at the ale there was no doubt that her company was an easy one to keep with her tongue always so quick with wit or jest. It was a welcome change to the company of other soldiers when that talk was so often maudlin or bawdy “The snow will melt from all of the North before I make myself a liar.” Blade was sharpened once more as he absentmindedly wondered whether anything else would ever be quite so therapeutic. “I will do so with pleasure, my lady. But there is also something to be said for proving those who would think little of you wrong and I do not doubt your capability to do so.” Large head shook at her question and while there was the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth it seemed obvious to himself at least that his words were meant. “If I thought you needed a nanny I would have handed you off to someone far more qualified. As it is I just think you in need of a distraction. As with all of us.”

Solemness came over him at her words while as grateful as he was for them, the warrior wished that she had never uttered them. He had long since come to terms with what he had always assumed would be his fate in this war - to not return from it - but he had never quite been comfortable in the knowledge that there would be many that he would be leaving behind. His brothers would perhaps go on without him and he knew that his sisters were strong enough to but for some reason others had allowed him into their lives and despite all his stoicism, bonds had been forged.

( there was nothing heroic or gallant in leaving those who you cared for grieving and mourning but it was a price he had always considered himself willing to pay )

Perhaps drinking by the fireside had been a bad idea, the flickering light bringing out more honesty in the two of them where they usually preferred jests and insults. As such he almost can’t accept her words at first, deflection rolling forth. “Do not go getting soft on me now, Baratheon.” A gulp is taken from his ale as he decides that her friendship means more than that to him and she deserved more than for him to brush off words that were well intended and far kinder than he deserved. “Nor I you.”

The warrior knew all too well that there were some who envied the ability he had to aid in the war effort so easily. He had been built for battle, forged to withstand whatever was thrown at him and that would always lend itself well towards the defence of others. Luck of birth was on his side in that respect. But most of all it was on his side in that no man ever challenge his ability to help or do good for the war effort like so many willing ladies were faced with if they were ever to stand up and try to defend their people too.

( in all honesty he would much rather have a band of fierce Northern ladies at his side than some of the men he’d come into contact with and that was why he made a point to train as many as he could ) 

Words left his lips in a low rumble, mild irritation aimed at anyone who would think her incapable of aiding their effort. “Of course there is.” They were simple and blunt just like his way with a sword before he attempted at something a little more wise. “A lack of strength does not equal weakness or uselessness.” Feeling somewhat foolish with it he allowed a smile to tug at his mouth, head tilting towards the area that they had used for their practises before. “Come on. You can still lift a sword, can you not?”

“I do not think that any man would ever choose death. I just accept its inevitability for myself and how that feels closer for me than most.”

“The women of House Cerwyn are both forces to be reckoned with and as will all my Northern brethren, they have my unwavering respect. But it is Lyarra that I spend the most time with and would consider among those I am fortunate to be close to.”

talia had never thought to skip such formalities; she had been raised to stick to them, no matter what. perhaps the situation in which they found themselves called for another set of rules but the social conventions were far too embroidered in her mind for the young forrester to just throw them away without being prompted to. “garrick it is,” the red-head spoke as she nodded, looking at the sworn sword as she acknowledges his request. 

steel blue eyes kept themselves on the roughness that surrounded garrick. everything about him screamed warrior. it was stronger than her, the need to just observe and absentmindedly take in however much she could. “hopefully the soup is to your taste.”

talia couldn’t help but think that, if one didn’t look as if they had been awake for a week straight, then they hadn’t realized how dire the situation had become. white walkers, shadow assassins… what else could be thrown at them? 

the young girl couldn’t help but swallow dryly upon hearing his question. talia would like to think that she adapted well to situations —- and she did, at the end of the day —- but it didn’t mean she didn’t miss home. it was as if she could hear her father’s voice, telling her to be strong, to be the iron daughter he knew she was. “i would rather be at home,” the young woman began, “but i am doing just fine.”

talia took another sip of the soup before she spoke, “and you?”

Fleeting smile touched his almost grim set lips, the battlefield having an affect on him despite how much he tried to resist. Still, he supposed there was only so much death and blood a man could witness without some of the darkness seeping its way into his being. No matter how he still clung to the man he had been before he had chosen war over all else, he knew that he had always been made for such things over anything else. A man made for war not kindness, perhaps that was why the smile so often felt unsteady on his features.

With some care he finally tries the soup, finding its taste pleasing enough to feel as though he answer with easy honesty. “I have had far worse.”  He had never been a fussy man but the time he had spent away from home and at the mercy of whatever supplies the army could get had meant he had learnt to eat whatever was offered his way. Fighting on an empty stomach was an easy way to end up dead. “Is it you that has been busy or someone else?” Tone rumbled out lighter than usual, almost teasingly.

Nod was given at her words, not pushing any further when Northerners knew how to be both honest and to the point - their truths blunt and simple. “Wouldn’t we all?” The warrior longed for home but more than just to see it, to be able to settle once more when all their foes were dealt with. Both those living and not. “There is no time to be anything but fine.” Words are said simply when self pity was not a thing he made a habit of, broad shoulders rolling into a shrug as gaze is levelled at her once more. “We get through, don’t we?”

Words rumbled from his mouth but instead of his usual warning, they are mingled with a half chuckle at his own expense. “You’d think after so much time with Grey Wind I’d be used to them by now.” Wry smile tugged at stoic lips, knowing full well that no matter how much time he spent with the direwolf and how much he considered the two of them to be somewhat friends, he would never entirely get used to his King’s other guard and companion. It was not fear nor unease that made him feel this way but rather a sense of awe. Most would consider dragons to be the most breathtaking creatures that Westeros had to offer and yet he could not force himself to agree - perhaps simply his Northern bias out in full force. Features shifted to solemn and steady once more, head nodded slightly in a sign of respect as more words came forth. “Lady Arya, Garrick Flint at your service.”

Playful jabs at her height had mellow blood boiling to an overflow, tiny figure twirling in a dramatic display of such foul mood. Fingers knocked arrow perfectly on the bow, without so much as blinking those same unflinching fingers drew the string tight, then released it, watching the tip of the shaft fly past the taller man’s head, just barely missing the side of his ear. Her head tilted upwards as she lowered the bow, forest eyes burning with the heat of a thousand fires as she stared upon him. By no means was she in any mood for any of the fellow Northerners who feared not the threats of their own kind. They all knew the power that rippled beneath each other’s skin, knew that their warnings were not empty and yet knew that it was possible to find loopholes. As a whole, the North was full of stubborn, hot-headed people.

Pink lips pulled back over her pearly white, straight teeth, the snarl an audible noise, filling the silence that had momentarily fallen between them. She was no little girl, and she wanted the world to be aware of it. She had scrabbled with men three times her size and walked away from it, she believed that enough proved that despite lacking proper training, she was a warrior at heart - and warriors were not to be messed with. “I could climb you like a tree if need be.” The words are comedic, but the threat remains beneath their humor. Though it was unintentional, she did find them amusing. Her goal here was to set it in stone that she was not a child, not a little, helpless girl.

“Is there something I can help you with, Flint?” The question is blunt, the Northern woman placing a skilled hand to rest on her hip. She had no interest in a conversation, no interest in interaction, and yet she would pose a question if only to get an answer so that she could send him in another direction.

Flint grey eyes had witnessed more battles than he liked to count. Witnessed his axe or sword flashing through the air until its path was halted by flesh and bone ( though at times he had witnessed the full impact of his strength in the gruesome way it had left mangled corpses devoid of limbs, his strength and strike unhindered ) to deal a devastating blow to all those who opposed his King. Eyes that had seen men from all sides fall, simply another victim of war united in death even if the cause varied. For every battle there had been rivers of red and endless glints of bloodstained silver steel as weapons flashed, held by men with eyes crazed by bloodlust, fear or simply pure hatred for his enemy ( sometimes a combination of all three ) so for all the Cerwyn’s eyes blazed furiously at him, he could not bring himself to feel any fear or be remotely cowed when he had seen the very worst that could rest in a man’s eyes and her glare did not come even slightly close. 

Arrow comes whistling past and as accustomed to it as he was there was no flinch nor single twitch of muscle give. He had long since ceased fearing death and while he had always assumed that it would come after protecting his King rather than at the hands of an ally he would not shrink from it. “Well aimed.” Eyes fixed on her, words rumbling out grudgingly when he was quite sure if there had been intent to hit him then he would have an arrow embedded somewhere in him. Brow raised, almost insulted that she thought he did not know of the deadly nature that his Northern kin possessed, all too aware of just how lethal his sisters could be. “Of that I am quite sure but I doubt there will ever be a need.” Words were as pointed as the blades he had always wielded so skilfully, perhaps some of the elder brother emerging in him when he could not resist pointing out that he was no enemy nor someone she had anything to prove to. 

Fondness held for her sister ensured that any of his coarse words that might have countered her bluntness remained caged behind a stoically set jaw. He had little use or want for fights or bickering of any sorts - least of all with fellow Northerners -  when there were far bigger things to absorb his time than petty squabbles. “It would seem even if there was you would be far too occupied for it. Your midnight training can take priority.”

perhaps there was veiled reason behind her kindness, beyond just wanting all to get along. if they all survived the great war ( even she was beginning to understand that this was a big if ) then eyes would turn to the capital and who was best fit to sit the iron throne. civil war would erupt once more in the seven kingdoms and towns and innocents would burn because of it. joining forces first with renly, and then the lannisters, had ensured they would support the newly crowned tommen. queen regent and all. they had made their beds and must now lie in them, and yet there had always been a niggling doubt in the pit of stomach that suspected they had made the wrong decision in the name of power – something the lady of spring had no care for. if swords turned on the lannisters, their supporters would fall too. but what if she were kind? what if she had friends throughout westeros that might vouch for the pardon of the lady leonette and the tyrells who were every bit her kin now. she could only do what she did best – hope and pray.

“will there? do you not like jam tarts, my lord?” the blonde woman tilts her head to the side, allowing the gradually loosening curls to cascade over her shoulder. she turns then, light footsteps carrying her across to a tray left to cool on the side which she proceeds to offer his way. “just one and i do promise i’ll leave you alone afterward. you can have the entire kitchen to yourself.” leonette’s smile was gently persuasive, a look many had seen over time and often found difficult to resist for it often meant rejection would lead to a face that might break a heart. with eyes as big and blue as her own, sadness could be seen easily and it was something most wished to avoid. “i do not require an experts opinion for i am no expert baker, just the word of another to see if they are too sweet or not sweet enough.”

Countless foes had been faced in all the battles that he had found himself in and all of their gazes from the most bloodthirsty to the most terrified, had been met unflinchingly by his own flint grey eyes. He had not once shied away from any kind of interaction when he was always confident in his own abilities and levels of control - he was not a man easily cowed. Yet he found himself with gaze lowered, seeking to avoid seeing any disappointment in the bright eyes of the lady who had approached him. A warrior who was so often fearless struck silent by the idea of offending one so gentle. Another hundred battles would have been welcomed more gladly by him than the discomfort he felt dealing with one he deemed soft and pure when his body was littered with scars and his hands forever marred with blood that he would maybe wash off but never truly left his soul. 

Gentle had never been a quality that he possessed easily despite always endeavouring to lessen any intimidation that came with his sheer size and in this instance he found himself putting extra effort into that pursuit. Though it seemed that he had not deterred the lady all that much ( or perhaps she was blessed with an optimism that was hard to find in others in times likes these ) as she pressed him once again with everything about her radiating the kind of delicate femininity that he was so unfamiliar with. Growing up with two sisters that were as wild as the lands they called home had not prepared him for a moment like this. “It has been quite some time since I have been able to enjoy one.” The confession rumbles from him, all too aware that so many of his meals have been whatever the army could provide and he had gotten used to dealing with such things. “There will be no need for that, my lady. It is I who have disturbed you.” Head shook slightly as eyes finally meet hers again to make his point clear when he had no intention of his presence driving her from the kitchen. “If you insist I shall do my best to be a worthy critic.”

Insults had never been the way he liked to communicate any kind of criticism when he preferred to instead turn it into something constructive when it was someone he deemed worthy of his attention. If not he vastly preferred silence over uttering anything that would cause pride to smart. Only when his King or home were slighted did more threatening rumbles leave his mouth but even then they tended to be void of anything but a simple warning. 

( he had always been a man of his word, in many ways his bond, and it had never set well for him that he would use words to inflict pain the same way he used blades )

Head shook slightly at the Northerner’s words, quick to correct her with easy tones with a politeness that would have impressed even his brothers. “You misunderstand me if you took offence, my lady.” A few steps closer were taken, motioning to the blade in her hands as he did with his voice taking on an instructing cadence. “I only meant for you to correct your stance so you could get more power into your swing.” Drawing his own sword, form was assumed as he had done time and time again to demonstrate what he had meant. “Like this.”

Rest. Wasn’t that a concept? The warrior could not remember the last time he had managed to snatch a good night’s sleep from the hours in the day that seemed to demand he gave them his full attention. Perhaps it was because he told himself he always needed to be alert for the slightest hint of danger lest someone plot against his King once again. It was hard to switch off when muscles were always coiled and ready to strike, senses constantly heightened in case he should miss something important.

( a far more likely explanation was the images of war that made themselves clear on closed eyelids, unable to escape the horrors even in slumber )

Smile flickered onto weary features but it did not last long despite the appreciation he felt for the kindness and concern shown to him by the aptly named Lady of Spring. If he was anything he was winter yet her warmth managed to somehow break through and somewhat soothe his tired soul. Nonetheless his head still shakes, somewhat regretfully when he can already picture the disappointment that will cloud dainty features. “There is not time for exhaustion, my lady.” Gaze almost remains downcast but he forces himself to lift his flint grey gaze enough to meet bright blue ones. “I can assure you that urgency does wonders for keeping the body going against expectations.”

Something about her words resonate within him and the warrior finds himself stilling slightly to give them the attention that they deserve. Heavy brow furrows as he weighs his own words, fighting to pull his own thoughts into line on the matter when he had replaced his own wants with the need to do what was right for the greater good. The needs of the many vastly outweighing anything that he might have wanted for himself. “Perhaps not. It is the burden that all of us living through such times must bear” It seemed only right that they should shoulder the responsibility and set aside personal gain in favour of ensuring that they would all live.

( his own desires had been set aside years ago from the first battle he had followed Robb into, sacrificing whatever vague hope he might have had for a wife or family to serve the Young Wolf ) 

Flint grey eyes turned to the stag that he counted among his closest friends - one he had come to trust after seeing the regard that his King placed in her. As a man who spent most of his days watching over the King he had not missed the glances nor words exchanged between the two and hoped for nothing more than them being able to realise such emotions. Words came out in a low rumble, lest anyone overhear but the person he intended but encouragement was still clear within them. “But I do not think that what you want is that far out of your grasp. You just need the courage to reach out and take it, Shireen.”

“There will be more to be found elsewhere.” Maron laughed, knowing that ale flowed freely and plentifully when fear struck the hearts of men. Perhaps the love of forgetting their sorrows in a stream of liquor was one of the few things that united men from all over Westeros - that, of course, and the new, heavy fear of the White Walkers advancing on their safety.  

“Aye, this whole affair was far more than I or any of us bargained for.” He had come a long way for the summit, and though he had resented coming here at all, as a Lord of Pyke it was his duty. Certainly, he would have regretted staying home should this sort of news have been broken without his presence. The islands would have a strong part to play in this war against the undead if he and his uncle had anything to do with it. 

“I thought I would take home tales of the bitch of Casterly Rock bickering with the pup from Winterfell, not this news from the Lord Commander that sounds more like old wives’ tales than truth.” It was not often that Maron felt fear, he knew his own strength lay with his axe, and he felt confident of his ability to use it to expel any force that threatened him. He felt fear now, in the knowledge that his allies would be enemies, and the enemy they would take on together found its strength in death. 

Stoic facade cracked ever so slightly at the other man’s words, a grim but wry smile tugged at the edge of his mouth just to make it quirk up enough to be passable as an expression of humour. Ale seemed to go hand in hand with soldiers, them almost needing it more than air at times to keep them going. Any commander who sought to keep their men happy did well to ensure that barrels didn’t run dry when most days the warrior could have sworn it was ale and not blood that flowed through all their veins. “There always is.”

Large drag was taken from his tankard as he reflected upon all that he had witnessed in the years that he had left his home to follow Robb Stark into battle. Eyes fell to his tankard, rolling it in his grasp somewhat as tone turned almost pensive. “I am not sure any of us truly know what we are bargaining for any more.” But he tried not to dwell too long on such dim thoughts, mouth quirking once again. “If it’s not lions and roses it’s the undead.”

Whatever mirth had been flickering in his expression faded away almost as quickly as it had came, expression darkening ominously at what he deemed a slight against his King. Flint grey eyes narrowed slightly as he took in the man he had almost considered a companion.“If by ‘pup’ you mean King Robb Stark then I suggest you address him with some more respect.” Word growled out from his lips, warning held clearly within them though his posture remained relaxed. There would be time for muscles coiled and ready to spring should the other man not adjust his opinion on the Young Wolf that Garrick had chosen to dedicate his life to.