mayaswann-blog

[mayaswann-blog]

crownsandgods‌:

       Ryden only danced if it was to his own benefit, that meant his attempts to flattered a pretty lady and get their favor. To appease his sisters and avoid any other man dancing with them, but simply dance to dance, definitely not. He shook his head and clapped at her dancing but remained glued to his spot. “Oh no dear cousin, I much rather watch you take on the dance floor, I am all tapped out for the night.” He chuckled. Fond memories of his dancing with a certain Baratheon earlier. 

       “Perhaps I can offer a refreshment instead? Some water could do you some good, your cheeks are as red as the apples on the tables.” He joked, gesturing to a man of the help to fill the goblet before him with some water then offering it to Maya. “Come drink some, maybe you’ll convince me to get one last dance out of me.” 

As her cousin clapped, Maya took a deep curtsy, laughing as she did. “The night is still young, you know. You’ll miss the best bits if you give up on it all too soon,” she cautioned him. Had it been anybody else, she would have been tempted to refuse to take no for an answer. With Ryden, however, she wasn’t sure she would get her way, and simply didn’t bother. 

Maya’s hands flew to her cheeks. True to his word, they did feel a little warm to the touch, and so she conceded to step away from the dance floor, back towards him, and collapse into a seat. “I suppose some water wouldn’t go amiss, though I think I would prefer some more wine,” she grumbled, though she took the goblet and sipped, obediently. “Luckily for you, I won’t hold you to that. I am not the convincing type.” 

[mayaswann-blog]

bloomandthorns‌:

“Oh Seven Hells!” He said, a laugh masking his voice in its mirth as he took the young lady’s hand and rose from his seat. “I fear I’m mighty wooden, my lady.”

He moved his way through the crowd with her, taking it upon himself to lead her to nearest the centre of the floor as he could get, before turning around and bowing to her with a smile on his face. His eyes brightly sparkled. This, a feast? This was his element. Though he partook in diminished measure as compared to his younger days, this is where his mind worked its wonders, where he made the most of friendships and acquaintance.

His right hand came to rest upon her waist, while his left slipped into hers. And as a jiggy tune set forth from the minstrels in the corner, Gareth began leading a southern jive. “And how fares the lady Maya in Winterfell’s most lively night in centuries?”

“Wooden, steel, or silk, you did promise,” Maya reminded him, cheerfully. “ A promise made in the Godswood is a serious thing in the North.” Hand in his, she wound through the crowd, allowing herself to be led by him as he attempted to find a spot to dance with her. In her intoxicated state, she was less domineering and petulant, and by far more docile, contented to allow him to take the reins. 

The lively beat of the music fit her mood, and once they began to dance, she let out a laugh of pure joy. She had only been to one coronation before, and, the gods be willing, would more than likely not see another whilst she still had youth on her side. She had to make the most of the situation. The Lord’s questions had her stifling another giggle. “All it took was a visit from us Southerners to breathe life into the kingdom,” she mused. “I am well. I am wonderful.” As if to emphasis how wonderful she really was in that moment, Maya spun around. “And yourself, Lord Tyrell? How does this compare to a feast in The Reach?” 

[mayaswann-blog]

rowan-lady‌:

“Careful, Lys, I don’t want you to get drunk.” Araela told her handmaiden when she saw the young woman’s cheeks. They were red from drinking and the heat of being inside the castle walls with so many people. The party from Goldengrove managed to arrive early and save themselves some seats, enjoying the drinking and eating. Some of her knights were already dancing or in the corners, trying to convince some pretty ladies to give them a chance, but Araela was with her handmaiden, smiling as the girl had her first drink of the nights. “Only one cup at feasts, remember?” Lys gently wiped her mouth and nodded. “Yes, my lady, I remember.” Then she turned green and gasped. “I need some air!”

She left the hall and Araela couldn’t help but roll her eyes and sigh. her handmaiden wasn’t one for drinking but she always insisted. The Lady of Goldengrove took a sip of her own wine when a young lady showed up almost out of no where with an offer that made her smik. “Me? Are you sure that’s wise, my lady?” she asked the woman offering her hand to her.

"It seemed wise when I said it,” Maya said, her jovial mood evident in the tone of her voice. She was all restless energy, swaying on the spot still, even though she had stopped dancing. Even slightly inebriated, she recognised the woman’s bearings as that of a woman of The Reach, a Southern lady like herself. 

Offer not taken, Maya dropped her hand to her side, though her gaze remained fixed on the woman, her words and her smirk piquing the handmaiden’s curiosity. “Clearly, you know best though, my Lady. If I am mistaken, let me live in ignorance a little while longer.” 

[mayaswann-blog]

The words from the other Stormlander drew Maya’s attention toward her for the first time. She was almost surprised that the Lady Baratheon had even deigned to speak to her at all. Her father had made it clear, often and loudly, that her reputation in her homelands was not the best. It was part of the reason she liked King’s Landing so. Regardless, she was talking to her, and Maya would respond as kindly as she could and pray that word of her new attitude would reach Lord Swann of Stonehelm. “They look a little different, though not too difficult to pick up,” she pointed out, encouragingly. “We could try together, if you liked. Or we could show them how we dance, at home. We won’t make fools of ourselves if there’s two of us.” 

             light eyes inspect the festivities with rapt attention. truthfully , it has been a great length of time since katherynne has attended an event as grand or populated as this one. gatherings in the reach were lavish & lively , or so she had heard. her wedding had been the first & last feast she had attended there, before her husband invented an excuse for her to remain  in oldtown , declining almost every invitation on her behalf. it is why she feels so small now - -  so out of place. she watches the dances begin and realizes it has been years since she’s danced. can she even remember how ? small fingers fidget with the base of her goblet , and she shrinks towards the outskirts of the banquet hall , deciding it might be better that she remain a happy spectator. still , a longing twinkles in her eye.  she turns her head slightly , politely engaging with the person to her right. 

                ❛❛are northern dances very different to southern , i wonder ?                         surely we must share a common ground somewhere. ❜❜

[mayaswann-blog]

Maya spun away from the lord she was dancing with, laughing as she did. Her long, red hair, worn loose save for a small braid at the front, fanned out behind her as she twirled, and her cheeks were pink with a mixture of the movement, excitement, and the alcohol she had been drinking that day. Maya loved feasts, but most of all she loved to dance. At Stonewall, there had been little cause for celebration, the gloomy halls of the castle filled with little but damp, and since being sent to King’s Landing, she had taken every opportunity to make up for lost time. When- if- she became the lady of Red Watch, she would fill Stonehelm with music, so she could dance every day. 

Maya ceased her spinning, though the room still swam around her. It took a moment for the world to come back into focus, and by that point, her dance partner had long since vanished. She didn’t care much. Her eyes scanned the crowd, eventually meeting those of another and settling there. Grinning, she held out a hand to them. “Come and dance with me?” She coaxed, moving forward to pull them toward her. 

[mayaswann-blog]

ofghosthill‌:

For some reason, everyone in the tavern within the gates of Winterfell seemed to be better behaved than they would have been in Dorne. And Catlaena hated it. Where was the rowdy cheering, the preening men and the dominating women? Where was the clinking of glasses loud enough to drown out the prostitute’s moans in the private rooms above the tavern? Where was the life? She couldn’t really blame the northmen though, if she’d grown up in an area this cold she might have been a little frigid too. But as it stood, she was hoping for a bit more… color.

When the girl asked if she was from Dorne, a small smile pricked at her lips. Perhaps it would be fun to play with the little bird. “How’d you guess? Was it the lack of morals and all sense of noble duty that gave it away?” She smirked, holding up her glass. “Sit with me…” Cat suggested, swinging around to face her more fully and crossing a leg over the other. “Tell me where you’re from?”

Maya draped her cloak over her lap. Even next to a roaring fire, the heat was less stifling than she would have liked. In Red Watch, fantastical storms blew in from the coastline, but never quite took the edge off the heat. The humidity was heavy in the air, drenching you with either rain or sweat. It was almost a relief to lounge in the heat when the rest of The North was so unwelcomingly cold. “I’ve met many Dornish. If the style of your clothes didn’t give it away, your accent did,” she responded with a shrug. “The state of your moral depravity is not immediately clear to me when you’re sitting so quietly by the fire, though.” 

Maya regarded the other woman carefully before giving her answer. Relations between Dorne and The Southern Kingdom were better than they had been in the past, but there was a long, fraught history between the Marcher lords of the Stormlands and their neighbours across the border. “Red Watch,” she replied, a casualness in her tone that was at odds with her introspection. “That’s in the Dornish Marches, down in the Stormlands.”

[mayaswann-blog]

It was curiosity that brought Maya out into the tavern. In King’s Landing, the handmaiden would never have been seen in such a place alone, but in the North, everything was different. The only times she had visited such places was when travelling, through The Marches with her father where inns were few and far between, but a welcome sight when you had been riding all day, or during the journeys from Red Watch to King’s Landing, from King’s Landing to Winterfell. They were a place of respite, but the Northern tavern was a place of gathering, of songs and laughter and a culture alien to what she knew. 

Upon arrival, Maya immediately started toward the fire. She hadn’t paid any heed to the woman already sitting there until it was too late. She stopped in her tracks, hanging around awkwardly. It wasn’t until the woman’s words that she moved forward again, taking the seat with a gracious nod of her head. “Thanks,” she mumbled, shrugging off her cloak. She turned her face to the fire, closing her eyes as the heat washed over her. When she opened her eyes, she eyed the other curiously. “You’re from Dorne, aren’t you?” Maya was the daughter of a Marcher lord, from a castle perched on the very edge of the border of Dorne and the Seven Kingdoms. She had always admired the region in her limited visits there, and knew how to recognise a Dornish woman when she saw one. 

        For the entirety of her trip to the north, Catlaena had bemoaned the onslaught of colder air, layers upon layers of clothes, and snow. She’d never traveled that far northward and the entire climate seemed like such an insult to her sun drenched home that she’d been dreading it before the trip had even begun. She was curious to see how the north handled their culture, specifically the women within. Historically, the north had respected women but in a much different way than they did in Dorne. Their women could manipulate and had the love and respect of their people and typically, those that had power were listened to, but not in the same ways.

        Regardless, as they finally made their way into Winterfell, the first thing on her mind was getting herself in front of a roaring fire and having a drink to put a fire in her blood. After asking around a little bit, she found her way to a tavern that had plenty of mead and other northern spirits, but more importantly, their fire was robust and healthy. She plopped herself down at a table near it, glancing up at the serving girl when she approached. “Just give us whatever’s going to keep us warm.” She addressed to which the wench replied, “Fire whiskey it is, then.”

        As she traipsed off and another person approached, Catlaena barely looked up as she shrugged off her wool and fur lined cloak. “You can join me if you want, I’m not going to stop you.”

[mayaswann-blog]

bloomandthorns 

 He grinned when she turned her eyes downward, knowing full well that it was an interesting game that they were playing. One that consisted of lying through your teeth, or lying by omission, only to find yourself the answers you were looking for in the context of what was said. And he liked playing that game. He’d grown up in a place where that was all that one did in their free time. The gossip of Highgarden was vapid, usually ineffectual. And so, so interesting when one had crafted a map of contacts in their minds. “She is. I knew Her Grace as lady Redwynne before the crown took an interest in her. An interesting affair, that. Rather an unconventional choice, though I envy her not her position or the King’s affection.”

His smile widened when she agreed to a dance, showing his rather sharp canines when his lips parted. Not unnaturally sharp, mind. Just more pointed than one would assume from a set of teeth. “I’m sure you could sing like an Essosi songbird, given half a chance. And I reckon you have quite interesting songs to sing. But a dance will have to do, for now.” He then bowed shallowly, as a sort of thanks. “If you don’t mind my prying, how fares the crown here, in the North? His Grace, our king, has always appeared to be a rather peculiar man. Not keen on change. I’d loathe thinking that he is inconvenienced by this change of scenery.”

Growing up as she had, coddled and spoiled and explosive, Maya had missed some of the teachings of the inner workings of the game played amongst the nobles. Fortunately, she was a quick learner, and far more adaptable than any had given her credit for. The short few years she had spent at the capital were enough to teach her how to bite her tongue, to smile and tease and flirt when needed. Often, she tasted blood in her mouth as she forced herself to refrain from spilling the truths she really thought. This situation was not like that. In a way, it was as though they were already dancing with one another. “Crowns are a heavy burden for those that wear them. Not all of us are cut out for that honour,” she pointed out. 

His words drew a laugh from Maya. The womanly arts were not lost on her, but she had never possessed an ear for music. That had been Stephan’s forte, the heir to Red Watch before he had inconvenienced them all by dropping dead before he grew out of his teens and leaving quite the mess in its wake. “Do Essosi songbirds scream like a woman in labour? I feel like that is a much more accurate description,” she said, playfully. His question was a loaded one. There was little she could say- it certainly wasn’t her place, and she had always been passionate about not throwing herself on swords others held out to her. She twisted her mouth into a facetious smile, pressing one thin finger to her lips. “Even the trees have ears in the North, my Lord. That’s the whole point of a Godswood, you know.” 

[mayaswann-blog]

From what she had heard of The North, Maya had expected a dank, gloomy castle surroinding by nothing but cold and damp. This couldn’t be further from what she had been greeted with at Winterfell. She had assumed it would be frozen in time, a wild, backwards place, still and silent. Instead, she had arrived to a place that was alive. warmth dpread through the castle like lifeblood, song rang out in the courtyards, and The Starks were far better hosts than she had come to expect. The history of Winterfell was rich with stories, some so old they had passed into myth. Maya was determined to soak in all she could of The North while she had the chance, but time and time again, she was drawn to The Godswood, something about it calling her name. 

The words of the other woman made it obvious that she hadn’t been expected there. She was anointed in the light of The Seven, as was the case in most of The South, yet the Old Gods held a mystery for her she was intent on cracking. Sheepishly, she offered a tentative, if slightly forced smile. “My accommodations are perfect. We certainly have been made to feel most welcome,” she responded. Her second statement brought with a need to explain her presence in a place her gods had never touched. “ I find myself drawn to this place every day, you see. It is worth the walk.” 

                        * : —-  WINTERFELL  ;  great  walls  of  granite  built  upon  ancient  hot  springs  ,  with  unlimited  secrets  left  behind  by  generations  of  starks  past  ,  for  the  generation  of  starks  to  come  .  a  symbol  of  strength  and  endurance  . it  is  home  .   see  a  wolf  maid  ;  overwhelmed  .  the  youngest  of  the  litter  ,  who  has  known  nothing  but  north  ,  and  it ‘ s  people  as  long  as  she  has  lived  .  it  is  most  new  ,  and  unnatural  to  her  to  play  host  to  many  a  southron  —-  with  their  strange  ways  ,  and  their  wandering  around  with  wondering  eyes  :  see  her  now  ,  on  her  way  to  the  godswood  ,    a  place  most  northern  .  with  an  olden  tome  in  her  arms  .   ‘ this  must  be  it  ,  the  tower  where  bran  the  brave  (  also  called  bran  the  broken  by  tongues  of  less  kind  )  suffered  his  fall  .  she  hears  some  of  their  younglings  whisper  near  the  great  keep  ,  which  was  well  away  from  the  broken  tower  on  the  first  keep  .  she  stops  to  correct  them  ,  kindly  —-  and  directs  them  towards  the  right  path  to  it  ,  before  continuing  on  her  own  path  —-  it  is  near  the  godswood  that   she  spots  someone  else  .  near  the  godswood  ?  long  ways  from  the  great  keep  .  how  odd  .  she  thinks  ,  yet  still  she  curtsies  ,  as  best  as  she  can    

                      “ i  trust  accomodations  have  been  to  your  liking  ? ”                             she  rises  ,  gracefully  .  her  tone  sweet    “  …  you  are  well  away  from  the  keep .  “ 

[mayaswann-blog]

bloomandthorns‌:

“Ah, one of the queen’s ladies. A rather demanding, if interesting position.” He said with a grin, nodding his head. “I do know our Queen, my lady. I might be locked up in a castle most days, but one does well to know the feet at which they serve and the rings which they kiss.” He chuckled, moving to sit beside her, more out of politeness than a true sense of being tired. “Do you mind, my lady?”

“One of, if not the most beautiful place in all the Realm. I truly hope you can see it one day. It is quite a sight. Fields of flowers, hills dotted with orchards of apple and pear, barges along the Mander. It’s quite the spectacle. The evenings are filled with song and dance. Quite a lot more lively than Winterfell, I dare say. Comparatively, this feels like a graveyard.” His eyes wandered over the Godswood and the gently waving trees. The wind had picked up slightly, blowing gusts of snow onto piles around the bases of the trees and over the foliage of bush. Her next few words drew a smile from him, a rather mischievous smile that brought a glint to his eyes. “Oh yes, quite mindful. But, if you’ll excuse my forwardness, it seems the Queen has herself a rather clever lady. I don’t reckon much escapes you. I would wager you have many an interesting story to tell. Perhaps during the feast I might trouble you for a song of the courts. And, if you’d be willing, a dance, my lady.”

“The queen is good to me,” Maya said, simply. There were very few people who had not been dismissive of Maya, and Queen Anya was one of the few. That was enough to earn her loyalty for as long as it was needed. “She is from The Reach herself, I believe. Perhaps she will allow me to accompany her, should she ever wish to return home. You will have to show me the beauty of Highgarden in person, if I ever find myself nearby.” Maya paused for a moment, trying to picture the splendour of a place she had never visited. Red Watch and King’s Landing were entirely different, Winterfell utterly unique. Highgarden, by the sounds of things, was again another thing entirely, and though she had read about it, and it’s lord was describing the sights and sounds, she couldn’t quite imagine it. 

“Perhaps she has, though it would be unbecoming of me to agree,” she shot back with a playful smirk. She cast her eyes downwards, making a mockery of attempting to appear demure. “You wouldn’t want to hear me sing. I’ve heard mules with prettier voices than me. A dance, though, I can oblige.”

[mayaswann-blog]

bloomandthorns‌:

He chuckled at her language and nodded his head, almost impressed at her brash ways. “I’d take the countryside over that sweltering hole of a city,” he replied. His eyes slowly scanned over her, trying to paint her picture in his mind. It was a habit of his. To remember names and faces that might come to be interesting people to know. And a lady-in-waiting in the capital? Now that was an interesting person indeed. “My apologies, my lady. I did not mean to cause you offence. A curious soul, mine.”

“Who, might I ask, do you serve, my lady? You’ll have to forgive me. I’m not too aware of the goings-on at the Red Keep, I’m afraid. There’s so much to know in the Reach alone, that I find my head often too filled with all the sights and sounds, the places, the people.” Again, his head was tilted, leaving his brown curls to fall lacklusterly to one side of his head. They were kempt, as one would assume a lord’s locks would be. But he let them sit freely, a look he quite enjoyed. It seemed to give him a bit of a playful streak. And one might find a playful companion more enticing than a stern one. “A shame, really. There must be much to listen to, serving at the court.”

“Perhaps you’d change your mind if you were to visit Red Watch, my lord,” Maya added, cheekily.  A fallen tree rested on the ground next to the black waters. She removed her glove so as not to soak it and dusted off the light layer of snow from the wood, taking a seat when she was done. Her fingers turned pink from the cold, and she wrapped her hand in her cloak, not stupid enough to replace her glove whilst her skin was still wet. “I’m not offended. You can ask what you want,” she said, lightly. In the Stormlands, her temper was legendary. It was quite refreshing to speak to someone who did not expect an outburst, and to be treated as a lady, with a lady’s sensitivities was one of the things she enjoyed about being away from home. 

“I serve the queen. The Southern queen, at least. I’ll presume that even a man with his head in The Reach has heard of Queen Anya,” she teased him. Her hand was dry now, and she carefully pulled her glove back over pale fingers. “I’ve heard that Highgarden is one of the most beautiful places in the seven kingdoms. It is little wonder you’re reluctant to turn your mind away from it,” it was a statement, though there was a curiosity in her tone, a thirst to learn of a land she had never seen. “It depends what you are listening for. It is wise to be mindful of what you say.” 

[mayaswann-blog]

There were very little joys in life that Maya actually took pleasure in. She had, from an early age, been disagreeable by nature, and that was not a fleeting childhood phase that had faded over time. As a grown woman, she was just as fussy and cantankerous as ever. One thing she did enjoy, however, was books. There was power in the written word, a world of information she could use to bolster her intellect- the most valuable asset she had. She knew not what awaited her in Winterfell’s library; but she wasn’t going to pass up the chance to explore it whilst she was here. 

She knew better to expect the library to be empty, though she had hoped for otherwise. Fortunately for the other woman, her years in King’s Landing had softened her temper considerably. “It must be a good book,” she said with a polite half-smile in her direction. She moved to the shelf, eyes scanning the spines of the books nestled there and fingers trailing after them. “You needn’t apologise, by the way. I’m not going to chastise you for enjoying a book.” 

                     instinctively  one  of  the  first  places  which  cassana  sought  out  was  the  library.  she  could  not  recall  how  many  times  she  had  entered  the  room,  fingers  drifting  over  the  spines  of  histories,  poetries  and  fantastical  stories  about  the  world.  her  favourites  were  always  the  poems.  she  was  quick  to  tug  a  book  from  the  shelf,  which  had  been  well  loved  by  her  over  the  years.  cassana  sat  in  a  familiar  spot,  close  to  the  fire  where  she  could  feel  the  warmth  through  her  dress  as  she  pulled  her  legs  up  onto  the  padded  bench.

the  raven  haired  lady  let  out  a  sigh  of  relief,  appreciating  the  moment  of  quiet  as  her  mind  devoured  the  written  words.  her  infant  daughter  had  been  irritable  and  overtired,  which  meant  that  there  were  a  lot  of  tears.  the  door  creaked  and  she  turned  her  head  towards  it,  body  shifting  to  remove  her  resting  legs  from  the  length  of  the  bench.  ❛  please  forgive  my  manners,  i  was  lost  in  the  book.  ❜

[mayaswann-blog]

bloomandthorns‌:

He smiled at her, his head slightly tilted to one side as he listened to her little story. In all truth, he knew very little of the goings-on outside of his own realm, apart from the bigger picture, ofcourse. But even then, what he caught only partained to him, specifically. Or the Reach in the larger scale. It was quite interesting, then, to hear about a young Swann being sent to King’s Landing for patronage.

“Fairly well, my lady, though as you say, the North is quite a different beast. And the cold has been an interesting circumstance to deal with. I can’t believe the Starks suffer this every day of their lives. No wonder they are so solemn.” He chuckled a little, following her previous gaze to the face of the tree. “You must miss your family, then, having not seen them in a while. And speaking of different beasts… The Capital must have been quite the shock. I remember first laying eyes on it when I was young. It has its own beauty, in a bloated, grotesque sort of way. But give me orchards, gardens, hills and fields of endless barley over endless streets and crooked hovels.”

“Even in the Stormlands do we rarely see such cold,” Maya agreed, pulling her cloak a little tighter around her. The thunder and lightning drifting in from the sea or raging above the mountains were a sight to behold, but with it came a scorching heat and heavy humidity that kept the residents of Stonehelm sweating no matter how much rain fell from the sky. “Perhaps they fear that laughter will crack their skin in the cold,” she added, with a wry smile. 

She paused for a moment at his question, the wheels turning in her head as she thought on the best way to answer his question. “There’s little of my family to miss,” she confessed. “Just my father and mother. Home is home, but I don’t yearn for the day I can return. The capital suits me well, even if it stinks of shit.” She remained unabashed at her language, scarcely noticing her slip of the tongue. “Red Watch is all mountains and marches. The capital is a far better place to be young.” 

[mayaswann-blog]

bloomandthorns‌:

“That makes two of us, my lady.” He said with a grin, his eyes quickly shooting to her and then back to the green. Being in this misty, dark wood, it made him miss the light, airy forests of home. And the hunt, how he missed the hunt. He put a hand slowly through his brown curls and replanted himself on the snowy soil. “And how fares a daughter of a Marcher Lord in the North, my lady? I remember meeting your father at a tournament, years ago. Stern man. Strong hands.”

“She fares well,” Maya responded, drily. “I might never find myself this far from home again, so I feel as though it is my duty to see as much of it as I can while I am here.” She glanced away from him, eyes raking the face of the heart tree once more. “My father is as stern and stubborn and strong as ever, from what I can gather. I serve the queen at King’s Landing, now, and it has been some time since we have seen each other face to face.” She paused for a moment, lost in the thoughts of the home she had long since left behind. She wondered if she would ever return. “And of yourself, Lord Tyrell? The Reach and The North are very different beasts. How do you fare?” 

[mayaswann-blog]

bloomandthorns

He smiled at her, his head tilting slightly as his eyes went over her. A Stormlander. The battered cliffs of the Eastern Coast of Westeros was an interesting place to visit, if not exactly his favourite. The rain and the constant, dreary dripping of waterdroplets on the soil below the tall trees was rather depressing, Gareth thought. “Lord Gareth Tyrell. A pleasure.” He then stepped to the edge of the dark pond and looked around the Northern Godswood. He was awed by the sense of endurance, the longlasting life of the trees that inhabited this protected grove. Even the air felt ancient and still, though as cold as the grave.

“The Starks have really outdone themselves. I was half expecting to have to make camp on the fields outside Winterfell. But it turns out rooms were available for me. And comfortable rooms to boot. A rather impressive feat, given how… stark this castle can seem.”

Maya was born a daughter to a marcher lord. The most she had seen of The Reach were the moors and plains that bordered The Stormlands, and there was little difference between them She had read of Highgarden, and heard stories from the queen, but had never seen with her own eyes the splendour of the region. “And how fares Highgarden, my lord? Is it as lovely as they say?” she asked. His attentions were seemingly diverted from her as he looked around the Godswood. With the presence of another, it seemed a little less wild, less magical. The faces in the trees looked to be little more than crude carvings, now. 

“The clue would appear to be in the name, but it appears it’s a misnomer. The King in the North has had us fooled all this time,” she smirked, not missing his play on words. “I expected a grim-faced lot and damp on the walls, but it isn’t all so bad. The Starks are better hosts than I expected.”

[mayaswann-blog]

bloomandthorns‌:

“Had I known it was going to be this icy,” he replied, “I wouldn’t have dared travel out here.” He came out of the brush, looking rather dishevelled. The cold wasn’t unbearable in any sense, but it was rather icy. Icy enough to want to wish you were inside the moment you stepped into the freezing air. It bit into your cheeks and dried your lips. The wind was like a sword, cutting through flesh and bone as easy as steel did. Even wrapping yourself in a good amount of layered cloth and a nice, long cloak didn’t help. He stepped out into the Weyrwood clearing and looked out over the black pond at its base, as if in awe by the perceived depth. One could fall forever in that darkness, Gareth thought quietly to himself.

“Good to know I’m not the only brave fool to have arrived in Winterfell. I commend your hardiness, my lady. It’s quite the feat to linger outside in air like this. Especially for us, the children of cool winters and hot summers.” With a smile he then turned towards her and bowed, somewhat shallowly. “Ah, manners. My apologies. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”

“And to think they call this Spring,” Maya grumbled. The cold was enough to turn her cheeks to pink, and she expected in the Winter, any exposed skin that was exposed to the elements for too long would die and fall off. She recalled a travelling jester from her youth who has past through Stonehelm, frost-bitten and mutilated until he no longer resembled a human. He had made her brother cry, and though Maya was made of stronger stuff, both children had been quickly ushered away because of his cowardice. She wondered if such sights were the norm in the north. 

“Fools, maybe, but who knows if we will ever see the North again in our lifetimes. I didn’t travel all this way to shiver behind castle walls,” she said. A smirk appeared on her face, “besides, I’m from the Stormlands. Our winters may be cooler than Northern spring, but our Autumns are wilder than anything I’ve seen yet of Winterfell.” There was a pride to her tone, an immodesty routed in a love of the home she had left behind to serve her queen. “Maya Swann,” she introduced herself, forgoing any politeness, though she returned his bow with a cursary bend of her knees to observe courtesy. ““And you are?”

[mayaswann-blog]

As long as she didn’t have to stay outside in it for too long, Maya didn’t mind the cold very much. She had, after all, grown up in the Stormlands, between the mountains and the sea, where fierce winds and angered thunder were the norm. Compared to that, the North, though frigid, was stiller, quieter, and far more manageable. 

Unfortunately for Maya, she had been outside far past the point of it being comfortable. Her quest to take in some of the more historic sights of Winterfell- it was her first time in the North, after all, and for all she knew, her last- had led her to the Godswood. Of course, they had them in Red Watch and King’s Landing, but not like this. This Godswood felt primal, steeped in history Maya could barely imagine. She stopped by every tree, hardly daring to touch the bark, making mental notes that she could sketch out later when she had returned to the warmth of the castle. 

She wasn’t sure how long had passed before the heard a disturbance in the undergrowth, and turned curiously to the source of the sound. The Godswood felt so far from anything human that she had half expected to spot a deer approaching through the trees, and was almost surprised at the sight of a living, breathing person. “Come to brave the cold?” she called out. “I can’t imagine what this place was like in winter. I’d imagine you couldn’t get here without growing icicles on your eyelashes first.”