#illegitimatesnow

It seems like one of the heaviest weights have been lifted off of her frail shoulders once the Bolton sigil is removed from the map. She dreads the look of it, the symbol of utter destruction. She turns to the king as she feels the pressure of the wooden sigil in her hand, emerald green meeting steel as they lock eyes. Talia can never forget those eyes, even from when they were children. The opposite hand that occupies nothing comes to rest upon his hand that is joined with hers. The destroyers have been destroyed and now Talia holds them in her hand, wishing to crumble the sigil to bits with one squeeze of her hand. She is not that strong enough, but she can do it in her mind. The Boltons and Whitehills have taken everything from her and now, she will be able to avenge what has been lost. 

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she bows her head in a slight nod, the corners of her lips turning up only slightly. It has been some time since she truly smiled. “I will never be able to repay you for your kindness and your help. I hope my loyalty will be enough.” Talia can never imagine being loyal to anyone else. House Forrester has been loyal to House Stark for centuries, both aiding each other for hundreds upon hundreds of years, and she will make sure that continues. She dreads the moment she has to move away. It has been so long that she has been touched gently in some time by someone who was not Rodrik. Everything else has been aggressive: pushes, shoves, being dragged through the woods with Ramsay’s tight grip around her delicate wrist. But they can not sit around staring at each other when there is planning to be done. 

Talia places the sigil on one of the many unoccupied stools surrounding the large table, reminding herself to take it so no one sits upon it. 

               she’d been awoken and told that their guest was once again wandering the hills, and curiosity had drawn her out into the morning cool air. walking up behind him as he turned the words came out of her mouth without a thought, a smile tugging up the corner of her mouth as she came to a halt beside him. looking out over the ocean with the sun rising was breath taking, not usually breath taking enough to draw her out into the cold, but beautiful nonetheless.                his words had the other side of her mouth curving up until she had an actual smile on her face. her laughter was light as she turned to look at him, the sun sparking off the silver of her hair as violet eyes danced in amusement. “oh? and here i thought you were simply astounded by my titles.” the smirk on her face could be described as nothing but mischievous as she turned back to the waters. the days since that first sighting had been wrought with a battle of wills, one she had not experienced in quite awhile, conceding to allow him to mine the dragonglass had been something she didn’t entirely agree with, but tyrion’s words had swayed her, now though she hoped to at least forge an alliance with this man that seemed to wear his honour like a cloak.                she cannot say she is surprised to hear his words, after all she was still unsure if she would have attended a meeting called by him if she had been in his position. she had met other people that did not agree with her face to face before but never when she had been in a position as tenuous as the one she was in now. looking at him she raised her eyebrows. “as you have surprised me,” she answered, “i did not expect you to be as you are.” men in power were rarely humble in her experience. 

Robb had pushed her away again. Yes, she was his wife, in name, in body, but his constant push away hurt. She wanted him to love her. She wanted to love him too, but she couldn't break past the ice of his heart. In the Glass Garden, she found herself seeing her home. She missed Highgarden. She missed the smell of roses. She missed the warmth. She missed everything about it. She was sobbing attempting to quiet herself as she sobbed.

All she wanted was to be happy here. She wasn't. While she got along with all of the ladies around her, and while she got along with Jon, she still wanted a little bit more. When she heard her name called softly, her eyes lifted until they met Jon's. She couldn't breathe for a moment before sniffing a bit. She struggled to compose herself until she watched him sit down beside her.

Jon had been so kind to her. He had been something of a comfort to her. His kindness, Arya's kindness, Sansa's sweet and gentle nature, Bran and Rickon's humor. Even Theon, who was always at Robb’s side and his best friend, was playful. Robb was the only cold one. Perhaps it was because he didn't want a wife.

  Slender arms catch him around the middle, and he can feel her cheek pressed between his shoulder blades as Myriam embraces him. In moments like this where his heart is warmed with such fierce fondness, Jon almost wants to forget his honor, forget himself entirely with the soft press of her kisses and the closeness of her body. But he could not bear to take the chance; to father a child which must suffer the fate of being a bastard.     “You make it hard to leave when you do things like that.” Gently, Jon pries himself free, hands taking hold of hers. Thumbs rub against hers, an affectionate gesture he hardly realizes he’s doing. The smile which had been present fades the longer he looks upon her; startling blue eyes and golden curls glowing like gold in the dim light of candles. “You’re too good for a place like this.”

Myriam smiled as she held him, and only laughed at his words. “I have to do somethin’ to make you come back for more of our chats,” she told him. She truly enjoyed his visits, enjoyed his company. She was more than glad to hear that certain things she did made him want to return. Sometimes she wondered if he simply pitied her, but perhaps not. As he turned to her and held her hands, Myriam smiled at him, although wondered why his expression began to falter. 

He never learned of his  brother’s  death  until  he  RETURNED  from  being  a  prisoner  of  war, among other issues, it was the primary thing that made him SHUT  DOWN  ENTIRELY  for  quite some time. 

When he snapped out of it, he realized that he was  the  ELDEST  LIVING  STARK,  that  meant that the family business was now his burden to bear, otherwise it would go to Ned’s children, and that was the last thing he wanted for any of them. They were  all  willing  and  able  children,  and they were all quite BRAVE, but it was an ugly world, and he wanted to protect them as MUCH as he could.

So, there he sat, in his apartment, on his couch, with Jon, the one who CONSISTENTLY tried  to convince  Benjen  to  let  him  help  out  with  the  family  business.  Benjen  always  admired  his courage, and determination, but he knew that Ned would have had his HEAD if he said yes.

❛ JON, listen to me, ❜ Benjen says, turning himself so that he was facing his nephew. ❛  You  have no idea what you would be getting yourself into. It’s hard enough keeping you safe just because you’re a member of the STARK FAMILY let alone if you got into the business. ❜ he shakes his head, but then offers his nephew a smile. ❛ Your heart is bigger than your brain. ❜

         she paced the halls, heavy step PADDED by fur and weight by the muscle of the beast over her tendons and bones. long, long ago had she learned never to give her TIME to those who did not, it seemed, wish to give her their time. the clockwork and FURNITURE told her rightly              that she should be more careful and more caring when it came to the tongue                , yet she did not listen. not before, not ever! not willing, gods forbid if.

                              now though               now, STANDING before the door to the bedroom ( the BLASTED time hath granted her prisoner her own chambers 'gainst the shivered cells below ), would she listen. once: only once. no trespasser ever deserved anything soft. only once. be gentle, they said, and KIND, and remember your courtesies.

               king robert's arrival brought with it a flood of old memories, of things once buried from an age before. the carriages were lined, the horses in abundance. the trail of men unending. she had not seen so many since the end of the REBELLION, the very occasion in which she had broken the betrothal between them. it had been no simple task, rooted in her desire to stay with the babe ned had claimed as his own. she had cited her fear, her fear of men, her fear of the south. almost two decades later, they met again, he married with children, she unwed with none that he knew of. he had evidently been sweet on her since, making it clear to all eyes that his interest was still present. she had not laid eyes on his wife, though it would undoubtedly come once she found her way into the hall they occupied to eat.

     first, however, there was business to attend to. catelyn had often denied the DARK haired boy the same privileges as her husband’s trueborn children, and lyanna had always broken the rules by including him. jon was more stark than catelyn herself, and much more than that. she found him outside, tending to his blade so thoroughly that for a moment, she thought of brandon. ❛  i would bid that you come join me, JON. ❜  

     and who could refuse the iron lady of the NORTH? she set a hand on him, a gentle touch of fingers. ❛  you may not have a space at catelyn’s table, but you will always have one at MINE. the king himself has children like you, and they are well loved. he would not be displeased by your presence. ❜