![]() ![]() What the hell was he doing back here? He began to pace, glancing out the window he saw the Stark banners on the walls, his Father striding across the courtyard with Maester Luwin, Robb following behind. He was focusing on the small things, not the bigger question at hand. He had lost a lot of strength, and he shook his head once more as he tugged on his robe. He still had muscle but not as much, he lacked a beard and his hair was shorter, curly still but shorter. He forced himself to his feet he was shorter by a good few inches, still tall, he had shot up fast in his youth ('bastards grow quicker' Ser Rodrick had grumbled once, though of course his meaning hadn't been literal), but not as tall as he had been. It was then he noted a distinct lack of scars in general where was the white line on his hip from a spar with Grenn? Where was the three circles on his shoulder from the arrows Ygritte had sunk into him? It was only then he registered … why was he focusing on the lack of scars, when he should be focusing on his body in general? What had happened? The last thing Jon could recall through the murky memories was Castle Black, he reached for a robe then as his shaking continued, and he traced his fingers down his chest searching for scars that weren't present. He heard a whine and Ghost leapt onto the bed, so much smaller now, and yet clearly still his loyal companion, if now the size of a pup instead of a pony. His boots were at the end of the bed, his clothes hanging in the closet opposite… it was as though nothing had changed. His Father had shut her down when she had tried to ensure he was removed from the image, and thus he was smiling in the painting, a rare thing for him, as usually he would brood. Jon remembered that day, sitting still for so long whilst Lady Stark glared at him, due to his inclusion. He was shaking as he looked around there was the painting on the wall, a simple landscape of Winterfell that had been a 13th nameday present from his father, then on the opposite wall, another painting of he with his siblings, something his father had commissioned. He was in Winterfell again, in his old room, not a thing out of place since he had last been between the four walls. He blinked several times, his hands shaking by his sides, his brain unable to process what was happening, his eyes flickering around the room, trying to understand. He noted as he sat up that what had been the hard wood of a table in a dingy hut at the edge of the world was now the soft feathers of a bed, and as he opened his eyes, he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. The rush of air into his lungs was sweeter than any maidens kiss, and he vaulted up from the surface he was on. He awoke with a gasp he was sure was heard across the Narrow Sea. 'Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle' A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |