Blue M O O N
ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ꜰᴏᴜʀ - "ᴄʀɪꜱɪꜱ."
297 AC. WINTERFELL
THE RULING FAMILY OF WINTERFELL WERE IN DESPAIR, AS WELL AS ANYONE CLOSE TO THEM; THIS INCLUDED JENNY DAEMADAR. She hadn't eaten since the news had broken and hadn't moved from the huge, mossy rock that resided below the giant Weirwood tree. The young woman was convinced, that if she were to break her intense prayer to the Old God's, the boy would surely die - Jenny wouldn't be able to live with herself if that was the case. Even when others came to pray, the fairheaded woman wouldn't talk to them; she would just murmur her prayers, over and over - like a chant. She was engaged in an intense battle against death and it was a battle that raged like an eternal flame, never ceasing.
The Daemadar's usually lively frosted eyes were glazed permanently, with a layer of tears that threatened to burst at the seams; but they never did. Her entire body had turned to stone, every inch of her being remained solemn; except her lips, that moved swiftly with each passing prayer. Jenny's lips had become as dry as the sands of Dorne, she was dehydrated and her stomach growled savagely - but, she didn't care. Jenny wasn't a religious loon, however, she always thought that the God's had listened to her and now this was the ultimate test to them - if Bran was to live, the God's were true, if not, then she would damn them anyway. Over the course of the day, the peroxide hair that was usually so neat and rested on her back had become matted and frizzed; she looked more of a commoner than a member of the prestige - did she care? No.
Bran's lively hood was all that mattered to her in this specific moment in time, her labrynth of a mind kept replacing the young boy with her youngest sibling - Manella. Mani. Jenny's heart ached for the Stark's she could only imagine her pain, her heart truly went out to them; she didn't know what she would do if she had to be put in the same situation. The empathy she had at this moment was monumental, the guards that surrounded the God's Wood were all members of her father's personal garrison; that he had stationed there, for her protection. Jenny found that most odd, was he sceptical of the young boy falling? Or was he just worried for his daughter, being alone in the God's Wood all this time.
Crunching leaves interrupted Jenny from her intricate thoughts, but she didn't look at the direction, her eyes were glued to the face of ancient weirwood's face - like contest of no blinking. From the sound of the leaves crunching, Jenny could tell it was a man, the heaviness of the boots prominent - was it the Kingslayer, any of the Stark lot, her father or her brother? She didn't no, neither did she care - her only recited words were the repeated prayers that hadn't stopped.
A rough northern voice spoke, "You've been out here a long time," the recognition of the voice was instant in Jenny's mind, Lord Stark. He approached carefully and tentatively, "You must be cold," he paused, "Hungry even."
For the first time since morn, Jenny had broke her prayer and she inwardly cursed herself for the formalities of Lordship. "Lord Stark," the young woman greeted, her voice scratchy and raspy, the noise caused the man to visibly wince, furrowing a brow.
Lord Stark was as stoic as ever, he didn't give away a single emotion on his face - but it was easy to tell the man was troubled, it didn't take a genuis to tell it. The clasps on his cloak had been rushed to do up and it was practically falling off his shoulders, black bags hung heavy under his eyes and they had lost their twinkle since the night of the feast. He looked awful, worse than the state of Jenny.
"My Lady, you should go inside and drink," Eddard coolly advised, "Go see Bran after that," he saw the flinch Jenny made at the mention of his name, "The Maester says there might be hope, but it's too early to tell."
Jenny's heart swelled in her chest, "Maybe later, My Lord," she paused hastily, licking her lips in attempt to wet them. "I must finish my prayers."
Confidently, Eddard stepped towards, dipping his head to the oldest Daemadar sister that was before him. "Lady Jenny," he began addressing her, "The God's have already flipped a coin for his fate, prayers won't do nothing now," he smiled sadly, anyone could tell it was forced hugely, "All we can do is hope it is for fortune."
It was the first bit of information Jenny had fully taken in all day, Lord Stark was right - the God's had flipped for little Brandon Stark's fate the moment he had fallen out of the window of the broken tower. Reluctantly, she nodded, standing up onto unsteady legs that wobbled slightly; she had been sat down on that smooth stone for so long, Jenny had almost forgotten how to walk. Polietly, Eddard held his sleeved arm out - without hesitation she took it, feeling like she would almost collapse. At first Lord Stark was surprised at how light the young woman was, but he was more startled at how cold she was - he was truly surprised that she hadn't frozen to death out here.
"Thank you, Lord Stark," Jenny felt like wheezing, she felt nauseous. Like always Eddard just nodded his head in response, with a slight grunt. Though she didn't feel like talking, Jenny decided she'd best make an effort to talk to the Lord of Winterfell - "How are you?" he looked at her, "truly my lord."
Eddard inhaled deeply, looking up to the sky, then back to straight in front of him. "Like a father who's mourning his son," the proud man admitted, "if Bran lives, he'll be crippled for life; something that noone deserves," Lord Stark hastily continued, "And I do not mean it rude, but I'll still be mourning the fragment of the person I've lost."
Understanding the Lord's words, the blonde nodded - figuring the words to respond thoughtfully. But instead of speaking - Jenny held her tongue, she thought that the older man could do with the solidarity and silence of the tranquil walk. The walk seemed to be even longer, this morn, with the air thick with a sombre hue and dark clouds had eclipsed the sun - it was miserable; much like the young woman, who's arm was interlinked with the honourable Lord's. The courtyard appeared empty, with the exception of a few guards who paced quickly on their rounds; all nodding to the Lord and the woman.
Close to the hall, Jenny could make out the small figure of what she believed to be Lord Tyrion, a man she had never met - though she could recall the stories she had heard about him over the years. He was a high roller, the odd one out in the pride of Lannister's, a little lion that was hated by his own father; for doing nothing, other than the cardinal sin of being born. Jenny was a poplar opposite to Tyrion - she grew up, knowing nothing but love and warmth; he grew in a world of hostility and coldness. Fire and ice. But, for a man that was frowned upon; Jenny also remembered the good stories about the smallest Lannister - from what she knew, he seemed to be the only one that had a heart.
"Thank you," Jenny said, her voice no longer so raspy, "But I believe I can manage from here, My Lord," the patriarch of the Stark went to speak, but Jenny cut him off, "Please don't insist, I believe a pride of lions dwell in there."
The joke was meek and lighthearted, not meant with malicious intent - but the patriarch wolf knew what the young butterfly was getting at and silently thanked her. Eddard knew that the last thing he could stand this morning, were Lannisters; it would be too much for him today, he couldn't deal with Cersei or Jaime's look of judgement and coldness. Apart of him felt illy for leaving such a kindred-soul like Jenny's with them, but she did tell him to go ahead - he wasn't needed and the Stark knew he had to let Jenny handle these things herself. He hoped that maybe Sansa or Arya would one day turn into such an independent woman, that stood tall and solemnly in the worst circumstances.
Instead of walking like a lady, like she was supposed to - Jenny walked with her arms folded across her chest, in effort to keep warm until she got near the hearth in the hall. Her dress, that she cared little about, flowed against the dirty floor freely - herself, not bothering to bunch up the skirt of her dress to prevent it. It was once a glorious day gown, but now, it could belong to a commoner - the pale blue material dirtied beyond belief. If the Queen were to be in there, like Jenny suspected, she would surely be judged tremendously; but she didn't fear the cold woman's judgemental stare. She cared more about the safety of Bran, which was growing more scarce by the second. Things could change so quickly, that was something she knew from experience.
Jenny's footsteps were soundless as she made her way closer to the hall, the guards outside eyeing her up and down; before opening the two great doors that lead into the ancient building. Inwardly Jenny scoffed, if her father was there; they wouldn't have dreamed of doing that - so what gave them the reason to do it when she was by herself? Did they think her an object? An oven that's only purpose was to birth children? Probably, Jenny thought, rolling her eyes as she paced past them quickly - without a second glance.
Ahead of her she saw the dark, short in stature sillohette of Lord Tyrion - highlighted by the flames of the fire. Jenny already felt so much warmer and as a result, her arms fell loosely to her sides - a relaxed breath leaving her pale, dried lips. She caught the eye of one of the servant girls, "Wine and some bread, please," she hesitantly smiled, trying to breathe some life out of her lungs.
The servant girl mumbled something, then hurriedly scurried off to fetch her request - Jenny appeared out of the long stone hallway. In the exact same place where the Lady of Winterfell sat last night, the Queen sat, a scowl etched into her lips - her blonde lochs fell neatly down by the sides of her face; her cat eyes locked onto her brother. A wave of digust came over Jenny, now that she knew the truth, she could never look at the pair the same way again - or the royal children for that matter. The Kingslayer sat opposite to Cersei, Jenny couldn't see his face, but she could see that he was wearing the same garments from the other night - Tyrion wore a dark red leather tunic, accented with a gold ripple. Next to the small Lord, sat the youngest of the offspring - Tommen, who was almost taller than his Uncle and across from him next to her other, was the beautiful Myrcella.
"Lady Jenny," Cersei purred, drawling her name out, "Do come and grace us with your presence," she commanded, her eyes flicking to meet Jenny's.
The member of the Kingsguard turned sharply, hearing the mention of the manipulative clever woman that had tricked him last night. He was taken back by the sight of her, her skin looked like ice - her hair looked like an uncomed kaleesi's; looking like she had been dragged through a hedge backwards. This wasn't the same woman he had met two night's ago; that woman that had strength and confidence - this woman looked broken and dishevelled. He immediently couldn't help but feel guilty for her state - Jaime was responsible for her current state, he had pushed Bran out of a window for finding out about his and his twin's secret - but so had Jenny, he didn't harm Jenny at all, he didn't even think about harming her. What was the difference? Did he act that way because Cersei was with him?
The oldest Daemadar sister didn't want to do this, she didn't want to put on a false smile and grace - she just wanted to breakdown. However she couldn't, she couldn't show weakness in presence of a gameplayer such as Cersei Lannister. "Certainly, My Queen," her voice acted well, sounding happy and melodic; despite the scratchiness that came with a bone dry throat - additionally curtysing.
"Ah!" Tyrion clasped his hands together happily, a grin greeting Jenny and for the first time she found herself genuinely glad to see such a sight, especially from a Lannister. "The infamous Lady Jenny, oh how I have been dying to meet you," he charmed, standing and reaching out for her hand - which she gave and he pressed his lips to chivalrously.
Unwillingly, a light tinge of pink dusted Jenny's cheeks, "As I have been to meet you, Lord Tyrion," she addressed truthfully, withdrawing her hand and taking a seat between Jaime and the smallest lion. "Excuse my dreary state, your grace, I fear I have spent too much time outdoors," Jenny explained plainly, blinking slowly as she met Cersei's green orbs.
Cersei nodded, but Jaime was the one who spoke, "From the state of you, do your outdoor activities include chasing hedgehogs through bushes?" he joked, earning a giggle from Myrcella and Tommen.
Carefully holding her tongue, Jenny replied sharply, "I've been outside praying, since Bran fell from the tower."
The smiles died in that instant, a heavy silence surrounding them - the pride had been pulled back to reality by the butterfly. A sweet, nurtured voice spoke up inquisitively, "Is Bran going to die?" It was the kindhearted Princess, who spoke with concern for the boy of a similar age.
"Apparently not," echoed the voice of Tyrion, Jenny's heart swelled for the information that she already knew. That poor boy. That poor little boy, her heart broke all over again.
Cersei's back straightened noticabely, Jenny noticed this, but didn't think much of it and her words were harshly strung as they left her lips, "What do you mean?"
The fairheaded woman found it her turn to interject, "The Maester's are saying Bran will live, your grace," beamed Jenny, "Is that not wonderful news?"
An uneasy feeling overwhelmed the woman's senses, the way Cersei was behaving seemed slightly off. For a split second, Jenny thought she saw the look of absolute despair on her face - but it was quickly replaced with a faux smile, "It's no mercy, surely, to let a child linger in such pain."
"Only the God's know for certain," Tyrion reminded his older, cruller sister, "All the rest of us can only pray - much like our kindred Lady Jenny here."
With a sharp tongue, Cersei scoffed, "I can't believe your going, this is ridiculous even for you!"
Jenny irked a brow, turning to face Jaime, who was dully spindling a fork around a plate. She leaned close to him subtly, her face near his ear - he turned, almost instantly at the feel of breath on his skin. His eyes blinked with surprise as he saw how close she was blatantly in front of his lover, it was bold, certainly and for once the charismatic Knight - who was ever so popular with the women, found heat rising to his cheeks.
Jenny's voice was gentle and it pleased Jaime to hear such a sound so close to him, "What are they talking about?" she whispered, as Tyrion continued to speak.
The Kingslayer didn't know how, but, even the oldest Daemadar sister's voice was attractive - he could only wonder what other noises she would make; he shook the thought away quickly. He was severely lusting for this woman, a feeling that he hadn't conjured in years - maybe it was her confidence, maybe it was the way her voice chimed with the wind, maybe it was the way her pale skin glowed like the moon, or maybe it was the way her hair beamed like the stars. He didn't know, but this primal urge was certainly getting to him and in a way, Jaime felt that he was deeply betraying Cersei for thinking such things.
Snapping back to reality, Jaime blinked speradically, processing what she had just said. "They're talking about the wall," he shot back, he saw her look of perplexity, "Tyrion want's to go to see the wall."
If she could, Jenny would have snorted - Tyrion going to the wall, willingly, that was something she never thought she'd hear from any man. Taking the black was once a noble and great honour, now the wall was a place for criminals - sentenced there to have no children, make no name for themselves outside of the Night's Watch; to help in the fight of slaughtering wildlings, how prestigious of them. Jaime made some snide comment to Tyrion about joining the formerly honorary group, whilst Jenny remained silent, her mind far, far away from the current situation; longing for the embrace of home - the Jewelled Isles.
"I just want to stand ontop of the wall and piss off the the top of it, with my mighty cock!" Tyrion exclaimed, earning a snigger from his brother - Jenny snapped back to the conversation and this time snorted; earning a glance from all the older members of the Lannister family.
Snappily, Cersei stood, glowering at her brothers, "The children don't need to hear your filth," she scolded icily, "Come," she cooly demanded to her offspring, who of course followed swiftly.
All three remaining parties sat in silence, watching the Queen and the royal children leave - her lavish dark dress streaming behind her. "Even if the boy lives," Jaime begun, "He'll be a cripple, grotesque," she found herself rolling her eyes, "Give me a good clean death any day."
For once, the oldest Daemadar sister, found herself not able to hold her tongue and aggressively, she nudged the member of the Kingsguard with her leg - squinting her eyes into slits. Her blood was boiling. "If you don't shut your mouth, I'll be the one to kill you!" hissed Jenny, deadly serious, "Bran's condition is no joke - if you had children, maybe you'd feel some compassion."
The imp chortled to himself, whilst Jaime looked at the woman with disbelief and discontent in his cat like eyes. How dare she speak to him that way? Sure, Jenny was the daughter of a powerful Lord - but so was he, she couldn't speak to him like that! But maybe apart of him took heed in Jenny's words, the guilt was immense in his chest - like a heavy stone slab had been attached to his tunic; the burden of a secret and crime. Then the Kingslayer imagined himself in Lord Stark's shoes; even the most reasonable Lord in Westeros would be vengeful to his son's attempted killer.
Without uttering another word, Jenny rose from the bench - flicking her matted hair in Jaime's face as she did so. The man flinched backwards shaking his head, she didn't care for the wine or bread anymore - she'd have her maids fetch it later; the woman couldn't stand his irritable presence, despite how handsome he looked. She marched away, not even giving the guard's time to open the doors for her; she knocked through the heavy doors herself - wincing as the arm shouldered the door roughly.
Tears pricked against Jenny's sapphire orbs, she was trying to blink back the tears blatantly. Jenny couldn't cry, not out in the middle of the Winterfell courtyard - the glass gardens; her haven. Hurridly, the woman paced towards the glass roof that she could see in the distance - tucked away behind the God's wood. She arrived there in little time, barreling through the archway - that twinkled in the light of the chilly sun.
The glass garden's were a relatively new structure added to Winterfell - fairly expensive as well, the glass was proper and tough, from the far away lands of Myr. The panes had been stained an exquisite shade of green - the green gave the glass the illusion of emeralds, as the sun beamed on it. Hot springs were deep within the ground below the gardens, creating an always warm environment - giving the Stark's the ability to grow plants even in the coldest of winters.
But being able to harvest in the abodimal conditions, wasn't the only purpose they served - deep within the overgrown gardens, a one of a kind bush grew. When the flower that grew there was not in bloom, it seemed like any ordinary rose bush - it wasn't. The type of rose that would eventually blossom there was a rare, winter rose. The stems were a lively green, the colour of an exotic fruit from somewhere in Essos but alining the stem were sharp needles that would cause annoying pain if the skin was pricked. The petals were a frosty, deep blue - the colour of the deepest parts of the sea, the shape of them in delicate, yet sharp ovals.
They were a wonder. A beauty. Jenny adored them. Yet winter roses were what started a war. A war that ended up with Robert Baratheon on the Iron Throne, a war that ended up with the end of the dragon dynasty or so, most thought. Jenny knew there were rumors in the East of the offspring of the Mad King, conspiring to take revenge against the usurper. Did she believe them? Yes. Did she believe they could currently do anything? No. The war started when Rhaegar Targaryen abducted Lyanna Stark - Robert's betrothed. Jenny knew better than that, that needless war started when Rhaegar Targaryen rode past his own wife and crowned Lyanna the Queen of love and beauty. Crowned with a crown of winter roses. A war that was needless, a war that stemmed from love.
Blue eyes blinked. Jenny found herself sat by the rose bush, she still tried to escape the invetiability of crying - but to no avail. Then a waterfall erupted, hot tears slid down the sides of her pale face - sniffing loudly, nobody was here - it was okay to cry. Her eyes glued to the stone floor, the colour of the room flashing as her eyes opened and shut. Over the loud sniffing, Jenny did not hear the footsteps approaching her.
Ashter stood tall, his frame not wavering. His leather vest cut off at the shoulders, exposing his arms that were rippling underneath with lean muscle. The man who had offered everything to his younger sister frowned, looking at her hermitted state. He was still curious about what he saw on the eveningof the feast, the peck on the cheek that Jenny had exchanged to that beastly and ghastly creature known as Jaime Lannister - he'd definitely interrogate her on that. He'd offered Jenny the Jewelled Isles, though he didn't know if his offer would be valid forever.
Regretfully, Ashter had found himself to be completely anamoured with the female wardof Winterfell; Tarla Bolton. They had known each other since they were little, but their relationship was never in the best standards - both of them finding each other rather bothersome. Yet, Ashter hadn't seen her in a long time and the ward had changed dramatically both mentally and physically. He could now converse with her without getting completely exhasperated and the young Lord hated to admit it, but Tarla had grown into an alluring woman.
Then, Ashter was back in the present - his sister's sobs had snapped him back to reality. Gently, he approached Jenny; like she was a frightened animal backed into a corner and very provisionally, he lifted her with ease into his arms. His strong jaw rested ontop of her head, his arms ebraced her warmly and he rubbed circles into the smalls of her back. Ashter shushed her soothingly, in efforts to get the noise to cease. It did. Eventually.
"Let it out," Ashter lulled calmingly, "It's okay, it's upsetting."
Steadily, the fairheaded woman lifted her head - she snuffled stridently, "It's just so cruel, Ash!" Jenny exclaimed, "Bran's never fallen. Never," she emphasised strongly.
The older Daemadar huffed, "Accidents happen," he paused, "the boy is blessed to have survived; it is a miracle," Ashter pointed out truthfully, which Jenny nodded her head at. "Why did Jaime Lannister walk you to your chambers last night?"
Apart of Jenny froze, "You saw?" she dully breathed out, she knew she couldn't lie to her brother. "I wasn't going to fuck him, if that's what you were wondering," Ashter's eyes widened, whilst he pacily shook his head, "I found out something that I shouldn't have."
"What was it?"
"That Jaime Lannister beds his sister."
Ashter released his sister from the hug, "What are you going to do with this information?" he quizzed, "You need to be careful, when you go to King's Landing, if you share this information with the wrong people," he gulped, "You will be killed."
"I know."