#deltiitnu

        ‘     ser jaime.    ’      his name is a breath     (     though lately,    if she must argue,    that’s all it’s ever been    )     upon her tongue,     blue eyes lingering on his face as though she’s searching for a wound      -      however silly that must have sounded,    considering there is no reason    (     isn’t there ?    )     for him to have gotten hurt.     it must’ve been king’s landing,    she thinks.     there is something so equally beautiful yet tragic about the place.     so cheerful but chaotic.    she remembers turning her back on ser jaime with pod clumsily on his horse the first time,     how her chest weighed like she’s swallowed rocks instead of the decent meals she’s been fed with,     thinking of how the big,   yellow-bricked walls were going to swallow ser jaime whole and looking back could only hurt should she witness it.    thankfully,    she speak not of her thoughts aloud,    her gaze fleets instead to his back:    to any large arrival she’s expected that comes with the queen’s promise.     there is none.    perhaps ser jaime has ridden ahead.

         ‘      lady sansa didn’t tell me you’ll be arriving this soon.     ’     though she supposes there is no obligation there.    with the mother of dragons arriving,    along with hordes of unsullied and dothrakis,    and king of north being embraced back in winterfell,     there wasn’t time.    besides from podrick,    brienne had been challenged to test her patience on the small number of ladies that were expected to learn any tricks against the wights,    against any enemies.    they were clumsy and feeble,   scared of sharp things when brienne was flabbergasted that they were so quick to handle fire and knives in the kitchen and sharp sewing kit to make their clothes.    at least lady arya by her side had calmed her some.    it’s remarkable,    how quick and sharp she is.    brienne wonders endlessly where she’d been,   who had taught her so well that she’s grown so elegantly,     but lady arya is tight-lipped with her past as much as lady sansa was firm about the talk   —    or lack thereof   —   of her past marriages.    they were the rightful ladies of winterfell,    none shall question them,    and winter is fastly coming.     ‘      how many men shall we be expecting riding north?    i shall inform the handmaids of the appropriate shirts and thick wear to clothe your men’s back.      ’      /      from brienne for @deltiitnu !

          there was no awareness of the person who miraculously found him in that dark alleyway, and rushed to call an ambulance — and literally saved his life, while at it. much as he was unaware of the paramedics carefully taking his limp figure in their arms, as to be carried within the vehicle and promptly attached to every necessary instrument — oxygen mask, IV tubes, you name it. anything and everything usually reserved for movies and shows was suddenly part of his reality. 

          by that moment in time, there was NOTHING. nothing at all. there was no pain, no agony, no sadness nor despair. it was like unplugging a TV, a screen gone completely blank and with no hint of light nor sound. until, all of a sudden, his eyes were open again. or, well… partially open, heavy-lidded and drowsy, but he could see. and he saw a lot of white… white ceiling, white walls, white covers snuggled into him. had the world ever been so white, before? it caused him to wince, hurting his sight still so used to the comforting dark, but he resisted the urge to close them; curiosity winning over fatigue. 

          this was a sort of room, wasn’t it? with a repetitive beep beep beep coming right from his side… it seemed so close, yet his body was refusing to move. maybe he was tied down? it was hard to tell what made sense and what didn’t, when his mind felt more like floating a whole mile above his body. but he noticed it, then — the face. the face of a young man staring back at him. who was he? why was he here, where were they...? the other was speaking, he could hear it… but was unable to understand the words. they seemed more like a long string of sounds put together casually, without a beginning nor an end, and the only reaction he could offer initially was to frown in CONFUSION. his tongue felt odd as well, clumsy and thick and lazy, as though he’d never before used it in his life. forcing it to work though, even if through a quiet, hoarse voice, he eventually tilted his head in the other’s direction.

          another day, and rosalie kept wishing it wasn’t true, but her lady margaery was still a CAPTIVE. that high sparrow --- what an AWFUL man, keeping an innocent woman in chains. she couldn’t stop thinking about all the vile, terrible things they could be doing to her. and why on earth the king did NOTHING to stop it or even to get her back was BEYOND her. ever since it happened, rosalie stayed close to lady olenna, margaery’s grandmother. olenna tyrell was somoene rosalie greatly admired and looked up to.

          it didn’t matter WHERE she was or WHO was around her, you could always tell she was better than them. maybe that was just what her striking confidence led them to believe, but rosalie saw the importance of it all the same. unfortunately, not even the queen of thorns herself was able to save margaery. not YET anyway. unlike many of the other handmaidens that served the queen before her imprisonment, she didn’t even consider leaving king’s landing and going home, even ‘though she was TERRIFIED of what could happen next.

The Riverlands were as close as it came to perfect for someone living in constant motion. She’d grown up near forests and rivers. Her afi had taught her how to catch fish at a time when one step too far in a shallow river would have swept her away for good, and thanks to Cora she knew good mushrooms and berries when they caught her eye; she knew six different ways to strip down a pine tree and eat it. And years on the run had made her very comfortable with the concept of theft. Which she justified by dismissing the people of the Riverlands as rude and ignorant to the basic rules of hospitality, so it truly wasn’t stealing anyway. Besides, she didn’t take from anyone who could afford it or didn’t deserve it. On that rare occasion that her keen senses in her fox form failed to find a meal, and there was no one around that had food to spare in the garden, there was grass enough that she could graze for her food in her horse form. Things could have been better, namely more interesting, but she lived a fairly comfortable life.

Until the soldiers had started in.

She pawed at the cold, wet trail of the frogs she’d been following for the better part of an hour and pinned her ears in annoyance. Something had frightened them all down into the water. The war party, likely, though she hadn’t heard them stomping about the banks like a heard of cattle. She did hear something though, a splashing off in the distance. Her ears swiveled and twitched, picking up where the wind dipped and where the air tickled, and then she bolted. Her little feet touched the mud without sinking, and her long, thin nose split the reeds around the banks. Where the long grasses died she paused, crawled on her belly a few paces, and then bolted into the brush until she came upon the source of the sound. A man in the river. His back was currently to her, and he was naked as the day she was born. 

Beck had a very witch mentality when it came to modesty and privacy. Meaning she could walk ass naked through a square in the middle of the afternoon without so much as a blush on her cheeks. 

Beck strode breezily down the drafty castle halls, humming absently to herself. It had a name, she was sure, castles usually did, but Beck had a hard enough time keeping track of human names; she wasn’t about to start pulling her hair out over whether or not she was addressing a building correctly. There was a basket of wash tucked under her arm and pinned to her hip despite the fact that she didn’t exactly work in the castle. Not that it mattered, the laundry didn’t know any better and neither did anyone else she passed.  

Her ancestors hadn’t blessed her with strength or height or any skill with a sword nor taste for blood. She was short and bright-eyed with golden hair that behaved well after a bit of taming. Rather than toned muscles or broad shoulders, her hips were round and a her chest was thick. She had the sort of size and shape that if she met someone in a dark alley with a knife they’d apologize for interrupting her dinner preparations and promise to keep it down. But over the years she’d learned to wield a sweet smile better than most knights ever learned to swing a sword. All she had to do was paint on a smile and act like she belonged there. A bit of warmth, a dash of familiarity, maybe even an ear to listen or a shoulder to cry on, and within ten minutes she could have just about anyone believing they’d known her all their lives.

Two quick raps on the dark oak door didn’t warrant any response, so she twisted the handle and let herself in. She stripped the bed and dressed it again, then she started the brisk process of putting away the laundry and nicking anything she deemed valuable enough to either fence for a bit of coin or make use of in a spell. She did this with three more rooms before finally stumbling upon a room that was occupied. The witch assessed the girl behind her kind smile. In the week that she’d been here she’d seen the girl several times, but they’d never spoken.

                 >> ⚔️ <<                           ❝             OUR LITTLE BAND    has become four.   regis lives    -----------    a higher vampire assisted in bringing him back and i met him recently.    dandelion manages to survive    IMPOSSIBLE    odds but he still remains intact.    now you’ve returned.               ❞             there’s silent questions on his tongue,   the how’s deep in his expression as it    SAT   on the ex    (    ?    )     nilfgaardian soldier.

         THE INQUIRY WAS MORE THAN enough to catch his attention. Tearing his eyes away from the pile of books gathered on the table, ( for what seems to be the first time all day ) Sam slightly raises his neck to look up at Gilly with a confused, yet sympathetic, expression painted on his face. “You couldn’t. I mean, you didn’t, no.” It did seem that way, though, even he had to admit despite not wanting it to be true. Truth be told, he couldn’t really remember the last time that he was able to sit down and have a proper conversation with the woman he loved — and little Sam, Gods be good, the memories of that were even less. It was necessary, he told himself — he had to convince himself, for if he did not then he was certain that guilt would cut through him and tear him apart faster than any White Walker. This is why Maester’s don’t marry or have children. Although Sam himself was technically not guilty of either.

“Gilly,” he sighed, reaching up to run a hand through the top of his dark hair. “I don’t think you know how to do anything wrong. I mean, you do know how to, but you’re not doing anything wrong right now. I’m just…” He waved a hand over the pile of books stolen from the archives at the Citadel. “This is just really important. You know that. Jon is counting on me. All of Westeros is counting on me, whether they know it or not.”

heartbreak starters ──── @scldsouls

      there was so much she had learned, not only with sam but also jon and even little princess shireen during her staying in castle black. she, herself, felt rather lucky that her life had such a turn of events –––––––– from having nothing and being a mere wildling living beyond the wall, she was now carrying her baby in her arms and going everywhere with the man that she loved. truthfully, sam had sacrificed so much for her and gilly felt that per times she was naught but a BURDEN to him. what was it that she could possibly offer him but her heart? something he already had and there was truly nothing left but that and their beautiful child. 

      so whilst they lingered in the citadel, she found such FASCINATION in the books and all the information they contained. she was growing clever and more beautiful by the day and quite honestly so was little sam. he was becoming such a beautiful young boy, strong with gorgeous features, a smile always blessing his lips. it truly brought such joy to gilly when sam was busy. she knew that he had such an important task in all of this and many people were counting on him and she didn’t meant to disturb him but the doubt was gnawing her. 

      ❝ i’m sorry. ❞ she truly meant that. she didn’t want to cause him more headaches. ❝ is there anything i can do to help you? ❞ her hand slid across the table to take his gently. ❝ you look so TIRED and i am worried, sam. ❞