#「ʷᵃᶤᵗˡᶤˢᵗ」ʸᵒᵘ ᵠᵘᵉᵘᵉ ᶰᵒᵗʰᶤᶰᵍ ᴶᵒᶰ ˢᶰᵒʷ

[killthebxy]

send ‘pain is weakness leaving the body’ for a randomly generated outcome (alternatively, send it + reversed) // accepting 2. Jon finds Lauren with a broken leg, ft. @sunflcwcrr

          he’s yet to know HOW she’s gotten herself into this mess --- having had no time to ask silly questions when almost literally tripping over his good friend’s slumped body, clutching her injured leg and groaning in severe pain. all he could do was to gather her in arms as carefully as possible, mindful as to not add to her suffering, yet all the same rushing down Wintertown like the wind in order to find maester Luwin. mayhaps it is in his best interest to not hear the truth of it, even --- for, should it be that this was cruelly done to her on purpose and on account of her foreign heritage, Jon will not sleep till finding out who that son of a bitch was and delivering proper payback.

          then again, him presently snarling like an angry wolf will do little to help, and hence trying his best to calm down; sat by the edge of the bed offered to Lauren in one of the serving girls’ room. nothing too dangerous, the maester declared once he was done tending the fracture, though it will obviously require time to mend and, till then, for her leg to be immobilized by pieces of wood and bandages. which, of course, means she will be highly limited in her freedom and movements --- though, for this much, Lord Stark’s bastard son has already found a solution that he is about to present; arms still tensely folded over his chest, and a deep scowl on his young features.

‘ i will ask father to allow you stay here for a fortnight or so. or, if you rather go home... i will go along and stay WITH YOU. ‘

[killthebxy]

send ‘pain is weakness leaving the body’ for a randomly generated outcome (alternatively, send it + reversed) // accepting 12. Sam finds Jon with a twisted ankle, ft. @scrvetherealm

          IRONIC, to put it very mildly --- that, given how none other of the recruits comes as anywhere close to being a match for him, eventually it fell on Jon to inflict on himself some pain that, clearly, Ser Alliser has been lusting for more than a groom does the bride during bedding. not on purpose, of course... rather, to be blamed on both the fresh fallen snow of late summer and the unkept backyard of Castle Black, with moss growing everywhere on the stones. his left foot slipped and, to avoid being hit by Grenn’s blade ---a blunt one, yes, but what about his pride?---, Jon did a risky move that shifted all body weight to the opposite leg at an awkward angle; effective in dodging but, alas, the pain that immediately shot up from his right ankle was almost enough to have him topple over for good --- again, avoiding it only out of incredible stubbornness. there might come a day where Alliser Thorne would see him cry in suffering, but it was not this day.

          now, evidently... stubbornness comes at a price, as does everything else in this world, and in the case it is the chance his injury risks turning worse than it ought to be, by not immediately acknowledging it and tending to it. nonetheless, well aware of this, Jon leaves the yard at the end of training with an expression as STOIC as he can muster and at a pace as normal as possible --- only allowing himself to deeply grimace in pain once safely inside the old armory, to return his sword and shield and armor. seven hells, just his luck... only managing to limp half the way over to the shelves before the door opens and closes again behind him --- but, most fortunately, he finds a rather welcome face staring back.

‘ Sam...? what is it, did you want something? ‘

[killthebxy]

@freefolkbeauty // cont.’d

          a warrior princess, indeed, Jon couldn’t help but think as he watched the ruckus at the training yard; Queen Selyse would likely not be pleased but, then again, she never seemed pleased about anything at all as it was --- and if it took a so-called wildling princess to go and show his own recruits how to properly handle a sword, then he definitely wouldn’t complain about it. Val reminded him immensely of Ygritte, this much was undeniable... the fire in her, the courage, the spirit that was naturally so free and wild to the bone. even if, on the outside, the two could not have been more different, it was still difficult for him to not look at her and feel a pang of the deepest ache in his heart; wrong to love her and wrong to leave her.

          no amount of guilt-stricken reminiscing would bring her back, however, nor would it magically have his work done for him --- which was, precisely, what the young lord commander was trying to avoid by coming out of the old armory for a breath of fresh air, instead. he couldn’t remember Lord Mormont’s desk ever being so filled with parchments back in his steward days... though it was also true that, during such days, the Dead were still well-behaved and would not come walking in the night. again, silly musings that only got interrupted when Val’s sweet but strong voice addressed him; apparently, he’d been staring without meaning to, to which the bastard answered with a bit of a sheepish smile.

‘ just wondering if i should make you my new master-at-arms, rather than Leathers. ‘

[killthebxy]

send ‘pain is weakness leaving the body’ for a randomly generated outcome (alternatively, send it + reversed) // accepting 22. Arelia finds Jon with a black eye, ft. @timeripe

          don’t ask him how he managed this; such a prodigy, such talent for the most unexpected outcome that could have been featured in any circus. as many of mankind’s worst records, this one also began with a good intention at heart... namely, to take advantage of this weekend that Pan and Alana are spending over with aunt Sansa (and no doubt returning with a ton of new accessories and clothes, each), and put some order in the house. perfectly harmless, right? all the more when this angel that is Arelia offered to join in and come help? or it was, until the dreaded moment he decided it would be a smart idea to clean the books at the very top shelf on his own, rather than waiting for his friend to be back from grocery shopping.

          and, yes, although Jon himself is nowhere near vertically favored --- the shelf is a tall one, a big thing in vintage style that will probably outlive the entire country --- which means he was required to climb on a chair for it. again, nothing to be out of the ordinary... until the aforementioned shelf grew out of balance and the books fell over one by one. and it could have ended here but, of course, it didn’t --- with his luck, why would it? so, by the time he was safely down and collecting everything, actually congratulating himself on walking out of that unscathed --- that’s when one final book had the audacity to hop off and fall on his shoulder. and then... when glancing back up to assess the damage, that’s when the final, final book also slipped off and SMACKED him right on the face; literally on the face, like in the best comedy movies. and not a carefree magazine, not even one of Lily’s little tale books... rather, a thick volume that didn’t knock him out by miracle, and note taken to never again put the encyclopedia volumes on the top shelf.

          which, in turn, all of this now explains why, as Arelia walks back in with bags of food, he’s sitting in defeat on the couch with a mess of books everywhere --- holding a bag of ice to his eye that is quickly bruising and even more quickly growing swollen. that and having to hold back his laughter when seeing her bewildered expression. ‘ ...first of all, i am okay. and i promise there is a logical explanation for this. ‘

[killthebxy]

send ‘pain is weakness leaving the body’ for a randomly generated outcome (alternatively, send it + reversed) // accepting 1. Lyanna finds Jon with a broken arm, ft. @willfulbeauty

          it’s difficult not TO POUT --- this expression that seems to be his default one, even when feeling perfectly neutral. for how can he not, when deprived from some of the things he loves most in this world? fair enough, a broken arm isn’t dangerously serious, and should heal within the moon’s turn... and, if anything, it is his own fault for having decided he could well on his own grab Rickon’s toy from the highest branch of that tall tree; his own fault for not paying attention and slipping and ending up crashed down there like a fruit too ripe. nonetheless, no amount of rational appraisal will change the fact his right arm is now USELESS for a good while, and how this means falling behind Robb in Ser Rodrik’s lessons, and no more teaching Arya to swim in the moat, and no more building snow castles for the little ones to play --- no nothing, basically, because that’s how good a man (well, an almost man grown) is without his dominant arm.

          and, again, he’s exaggerating and, again, he’s pouting while watching life unfold outside from the window of his room --- currently, feeling so BITTER that he has no will to go out himself and bask in everything he cannot properly enjoy. thankfully, there isn’t much pain to bear, thanks to good maester Luwin’s brews and draughts... but this doesn’t make said arm any less cumbersome, trapped in slices of wood to keep the bone straight and hanging at his chest by a sling swung around the neck. overall, yes, a mood sour enough to curdle milk... and yet, now that his mother has entered with a piece of wonderfully smelling berries pie, holding it by his mouth to take a bite --- Jon does have to smile genuinely, despite himself.

‘ do you take me for A CHILD, still? ‘

[killthebxy]

--- @dragontold​ ---

‘ owww... ‘

          it’s a quiet complaint, softly slurred... and not truly to be taken seriously, considering how, at the same time, he’s trying to keep back his giggling --- and failing. and it’s not really pain in itself, though it ought to be... because, exactly, the hot mess he’s made out of his pain killers’ prescription is currently not only making him feel as though floating in a white cloud above, but also numbing the result of his brilliant encounter with the door, an hour or so ago. which, no doubt, will come around to bite him hard on his fine arse in the morning --- a fierce reddish-purpleish bruise surrounding his right eye, which has gone unattended for the sake of rushing to ER and cater to a potential-but-actually-not concussion, and, as a result, had all the time in the world to swell to the point where Jon is quite struggling to keep it open now. mostly numb, yes, though still so very tender that, when Theon presses the ice bag on it, that’s when he WHINES and very childishly tries to avoid it by snuggling into his boyfriend instead; again, comically failing, considering he’s currently loopy enough to have completely forgotten about the broken, very clumsy arm in between both bodies. it’s just not your day, is it Jon? though, at the very least, he can and will try to lean in for a kiss.

‘ c’me here, you’re like--- so far... ‘

[killthebxy]

--- @serpenthroned ---

          GORGEOUS is a word that makes it no proper justice --- by far, lacking in expressing the essence of this exquisite sort of rock he’s currently holding in hands. Ghost found it, along with the stash of the dragonglass... and, whereas a less keen eye might have taken it for no more than rubble and leave it behind, by far this isn’t Jon’s case; eyes of a grey so dark they seem almost black, yet there is little they do not see. and he saw, he saw the texture of this rock like none other he’d land his palms on before; almost like scales, almost pulsating as though alive, almost a warmth of its own radiating. no... whatever this may prove to be, it is far from common, and somehow the young black brother cannot help but feel drawn to it; CONNECTED --- as if his direwolf coming across it was no mere coincidence, rather a play fashioned by the gods for him to dance along. and, right now, as the bonfire illuminates it and cast shadows over his features tinged with the colors of focus and concentration... he can swear he feels it again resonating to his touch, ready to burst to life. and yet this cannot be... surely, his imagination only... right?

[killthebxy]

--- @thedolorous ---

          at long last, his body had stopped trying to melt itself into sweat --- still slightly warmer than normal, but nothing anywhere close the angry fever that had taken it for the good part of the past two days. then again, was the body to be blamed, or he who would put it through such dire situations as to lead to this outcome, to start with? some questions were better left answered, it seemed. these were the silly thoughts currently running through Jon’s head, as he absently stared at the ceiling of his cabin. the sea was calm enough, which was a blessing in itself, and they should be arriving at Eastwatch before the week was over... and yet, thinking of the results of this mission, he was hard-pressed to call it SUCCESSFUL nonetheless.

          right there and then, however, there was one topic that consumed his mind further than anything else --- and it was the dark clouds that loomed above himself and his steward, ever since that very surprising, to say the least, clash of lips. save for the polite good morning and do you need anything, they’ve practically not exchanged a word since... and, while it was also true Jon had spent the bulk of that time either sleeping or delirious with fever or both, still it had DRAGGED for far longer than he was willing to accept --- and now was a moment as good as any to try and make things right once more. therefore, while waiting for Edd to finish replacing the bandages around his ribs, he breathed in and tackled the subject.

‘ do you have anything else to keep you busy right now? i would have a word, if you can. ‘

[killthebxy]

@wildlingraised // cont.’d

‘ as much as i did, myself. ‘

          a responsibility Jon has no intention to run from, not claiming to know everything that haunts his baby brother’s heart yet having a damn good idea of it --- what else could a small child have thought, back then, when watching all his family and loved ones leaving him behind for one motive or the other? as is, Rickon reminds him immensely of Olly --- the same ANGER, the same deep GRIEF expressed by means of nothing if not revolt against this entire world and the next. the same glare on his face right now, even, that Olly shot him with when learning of his intention of saving the free folk gathered at Hardhome.

          which is why the bastard knows better than to press the matter, as he quietly takes a sit near Rickon yet making sure to leave enough personal space between them; are they not the same, in this regard? except Jon takes his sorrow and keeps it well stuck at the bottom of his soul, pretending it doesn’t exist for the sake of focusing instead on more pressing duties. Rickon and Sansa have endured horrors far worse than his own, as far as he can tell, and it falls on him now ---not as King in the North nor any other imposed title, rather as their older brother--- to try and offer them back a sense of home and relative stability, if nothing else. which will, no doubt, be easier said than done, and hence him taking his time to process the younger one’s words and brew a decent comeback to offer --- something to, hopefully, ease Rickon’s mind a bit, rather than to add to the chaos.

‘ never expected you and Sansa both to grow TALLER than me, this much i can tell you. ‘

[killthebxy]

--- @wolfqueennamedstark ---

          he doesn’t hear it the first time, admittedly --- so distracted by the lady on his lap, the gorgeous guitar he could coddle and fondle all day and night long, that it takes Sansa poking at him with a foot to get his attention. not his fault, because little Lana has taken to only fall asleep when he plays for her, so it’s ever the best and most convenient of excuses to practice; can’t do the dishes, too busy playing for the baby. which is why he finally looks back up with such a nonchalant expression --- though, to be fair, it’s a sentiment common to find on Jon’s face.

‘ you’re askin’ me? you know i don’t even like that shit. ‘

          not a lie, as he much prefers tastes far more BITTER and with far more potential to have you begging for your death in the next morning. nonetheless, he has sympathy for his poor sister’s struggle ---nobody deserves the disappointment that is to unexpectedly run out of booze--- and isn’t about ready to fail her. on the other hand, given her whining and the way in which she just practically SLUMPED over on the couch by his side, empty bottle in hand and cute pouty expression, he has to wonder if the reason for the wine to be gone isn’t the most obvious of all. hence, not holding back his laughter as he blows out the cigarette smoke before leaving a kiss on her temple.

‘ though isn’t it gone ‘cause you just chugged down all of it, silly? ‘

[killthebxy]

--- @stcrmswithskin ---

          granted, the idea was not born from him and, if anything, it was partially imposed --- despite how, all things considered, it wasn’t all that terrible. just strange. awkward. unexpected. with some decent chance of ending in trouble, depending on his counterpart’s reaction. and it had started rather innocently, as well... it had started with Sansa approaching him after sword practice, which, in itself, had already been a novelty --- his sister, or half-sister as she was ever fond of reminding him, usually never offered him more than a polite good day or good night. and this much, of course, immediately had Jon suspicious that there would be a second intention underlying such generosity... and soon it was confirmed; the only surprising part of it, indeed, was the essence of the request.

Jeyne does not have a match for this evening’s feast, you should take her to dance.

          again, not that a first dance was anything close to torture or tragedy --- and yet, to have her suggesting he, of all people, ought to ask her best friend for this purpose --- it would be safe to say that it left Jon’s mouth hanging agape for a moment or two. though Lady Sansa had many predicaments, and one of them, certainly, was the capacity to ever achieve whatever she wanted... therefore, this time did not prove an exception --- with Jon himself, on the other hand, making a mental note that this could be a very useful favor to be owed later on, like the next time Arya fell short on her lady duties and required Sansa to keep a blind eye on it. and if it was ultimately for his little sister’s sake then, without a doubt, he’d gladly do it. even if it was a first dance with Jeyne Poole.

          soon after the keep began filling with couples swaying to the festive music, then, the bastard took a deep breath and approached his more-or-less friend --- hoping he’d be able to put the words out as courteously and casually as possible --- so that, at the very least, he wouldn’t be rejected immediately. ‘ Jeyne--- my lady--- would you give me the honor of this dance...? ‘

[killthebxy]

send ‘pain is weakness leaving the body’ for a randomly generated outcome (alternatively, send it + reversed) // accepting 22. Tass finds Jon with a black eye, ft. @saediste​

          HOME, SWEET HOME --- an expression he couldn’t claim to truly understand, for the simple reason he lacked a proper home; his home might easily be in the middle of southern Europe or one of the US states instead, a remote island in the South Pacific or a shack in the Australian desert. how was he to tell, with his memory turned to a black hole? and yet, when now finally walking in, Jon connected with that meaning more than any human being ever did. or perhaps “walking” wasn’t the appropriate verb to use... what with all but rushing in and locking the door behind him as though his life depended on it --- and, in a way, it did. heart hammering in his chest, he remained immobile and almost breathless as he tried to spot signs that he might have been FOLLOWED... only to sigh in utter relief a minute or two later, daring to consider himself out of danger.

          what sort of danger, one might ask, and especially when he was such a polite and composed person most his time? well... the aforementioned black hole had a direct consequence, and it was illustrated by how eagerly he’d been trying to find clues about his past and about himself, ever since waking up in that hospital. and, long story short, either he used to be a criminal or Jon didn’t even know what another plausible explanation might exist --- given the absolute lack of legal documents to prove he ever lived before and, above all else, the sheer number of times he’d find himself chased down the street by not-so-friendly thugs twice his size. quite the routine at this point, truly.

          now... whereas Jon wasn’t exactly of a big stature and his temper was mostly amiable and tranquil, he did happen to be immensely talented in self-defense arts and techniques; without a doubt, at some point before, he must have endured countless hours of extensive TRAINING. which did come in handy and did ensure he could overcome all odds more often than not... and yet, every now and then, the 1% would win. this time was clearly one of those and, never mind the frustration for having to run like a scaredy cat, he reckoned he ought to be GRATEFUL that he was able to escape to start with. unfortunately, the evidence he’d collected at that office and that might have proven extremely useful in regards to his past was also lost along the not-so-epic chase... but, heck. live and fight another day, wasn’t that what they said?

          finally prying himself off the door, adrenaline crash already about to kickstart, there was one final surprise for this day to toss at him before it was done, nonetheless --- one that had Jon’s jaw dropping as he made his way to the living room, only to find a very familiar face staring back. had he ever even given his address to Tass...? either way, of all the times to have guests over! not to mention, how was he about to tell a convincing tale to justify his current aspect...? most thankfully, he’d avoided any sort of flesh wounds and there didn’t seem to be any broken bones, either --- nonetheless, his clothes and hair were downright disheveled as though he’d just rolled out of bed after an entire week. that and--- with his system coming down from EMERGENCY mode, he was beginning to realize the painful throbbing on his right eye, and how swollen the damn thing must be if he was already struggling to keep it open. ...shit. offering his best sheepish smile, then, he brought his hands up as if saying: don’t worry, i got this!

‘ first of all --- if you think i look TERRIBLE, you should have seen the other guy! ...guys, even. ‘

[killthebxy]

send ‘pain is weakness leaving the body’ for a randomly generated outcome (alternatively, send it + reversed) // accepting 1. Jon finds Ygritte with a broken arm, ft. @arcusignis​

          GROCERY SHOPPING, the most thrilling of mundane activities --- might be so, even, when one has the power of imagination of a child’s and pretends to be acquiring relics off the shore of some tropical, remote island. alas, not Jon’s case --- yet, being slightly addicted to orderliness and housekeeping that he is, it’s far from being too terrible, nevertheless. if anything, the shop is near enough his apartment that he has no need for a car or public transportation, and the bright sunny weather outside well welcomes to a walk. all in all, a good day in the making, is it not?

          perhaps not as much, however, for the young woman he’s just crossed paths with --- heading down the same aisle but turning at the end towards the morning cereal and cookies shelves, instead --- and, much as he’s well aware that staring is impolite if not downright rude, currently such urge ENRAPTURES him. one, her long hair is a shade of reddish-ginger he’s never seen before, as though a flame hopped out of a bonfire and nestled among her locks; two, the beautiful tattoos painting her arms are thoroughly enticing; three, and possibly most curiosity-inducing of all... not only he easily spots a cast-wrapped arm cradled by her chest, no doubt fractured, but there’s a dark bruise by her eye as well and a swollen bottom lip that must have been recently cracked open. by far, not the sight you expect to find at nine in the morning.

          is it bad that he promptly assumes she might have just wiggled out of a brawl somewhere? does it make him a terrible gossip? in his defense, Jon is about ready to turn around and go back to minding his own business --- if it wasn’t for the sight he just caught a glimpse of, from the corner of his eye. because this apparently badass lady isn’t vertically favored, to say it nicely, and she’s right now struggling to fetch a pack from the top shelf --- and, heck, this is an issue he himself is no stranger to, albeit in a lesser scale. ‘ hey--- ‘ reckoning he might as well make himself USEFUL, therefore, he steps in to grab it for her --- handing it over with a smile. ‘ please let me help. ‘

[killthebxy]

send ‘pain is weakness leaving the body’ for a randomly generated outcome (alternatively, send it + reversed) // accepting 13. Jon finds Daenerys blinded temporarily, ft. @zcldrizes

          in all truth, it is a fate he does not wish to contemplate, even --- for what is left of this world, once illness most cruel prevents you from seeing it? might be that there are worse things, aye... yet Jon, in his still so young years, is unable to find a positive light for it. all left to do, as though reminder of sadistic gods that he’s but puny, powerless human, is to stand by her and do all in his power to lessen her burden, however little that may be. currently, it involves looking around the castle half-frantically --- for the disgraced princess may be frail yet possesses FIRE in her sufficient to consume the realm with, and is nowhere close to cowardly or meek. nonetheless, every now and then, Jon does wish she’d act the part and stay safely in her chambers... for it would save him, now, the sensation that his heart is about to come out through the mouth, what with so much worry.

          nowhere within the walls of the keep, not by the stables, not even around the godswood... could she have thought it a clever idea, to go to Wintertown on her own...? a struggle the boy cannot truly understand, granted, being blessed with flawless vision and agility to match --- cannot truly understand what it must be like, to ever DEPEND on someone else for the smallest of tasks. in his mind, of course, the issue is barely worth such name; being constantly willing that he is, to tag along her everywhere and act as her eyes to see this world with. a sense of overprotection that brews arguments between the two of them occasionally, for how can he sit idly and allow her to risk harming herself? which, possibly, is why she’s not told him today of where she planned on going... either this or she was forced out of her comfort zone --- and, should this be the case, then the responsible will surely be returning home with both eyes blackened and nose turned to a bloody pulp, at the very least.

          eventually, the gods are good and enlighten the bastard’s intuition --- guiding his steps to the furthest away gate, the one used to let the horses out whenever lord father and guests go to hunt in the Wolfswood. it is late summer, yet summer never prevented SNOW from gracing Winterfell; currently, a thin white blanket covers the untread yard, the parts under the morning sun already melting. but there’s a good portion of shade, as well, and there’s where he finds it --- a portion where the soil has caved into a half-hole, and Daenerys’ small frame curled up in there. ‘ Dany! ‘ she looks at him immediately, or in his general direction as well as her dead eyes allow, and a deep sigh of relief comes out; if nothing else, she’s conscious and seems well enough. now here’s to praying that she’s got nothing broken or otherwise terribly hurt, as he kneels on the ground and reaches a hand to gently squeeze her shoulder.

‘ are you all right?? hold still, i’m coming down to get you! ‘

[killthebxy]

send ‘pain is weakness leaving the body’ for a randomly generated outcome (alternatively, send it + reversed) // accepting 16. Jon finds Arelia after running into a door, ft. @timeripe

          arguably, social events tend to be the most difficult times of one’s professional life --- or, at least, Jon humbly thinks so. give him papers to write and it will be no hassle, give him children to teach and, hey, that’s what he lives for --- yet, when it comes to silly things like the holidays dinner or the celebration of the place’s anniversary or what have you, he does skip out whenever he’s got the chance to. one, his three children back home will not raise themselves and, two, most of these are frequently little more than a socially acceptable excuse to get drunk and do things you’ll REGRET in the morning, and then be unable to look your coworkers in the eye for a month. no, thank you very much.

          hence the look of sympathy on his face when bidding farewell to his friend a few hours ago, and the look of sympathy to greet her with as she stumbles back in --- quite literally stumbles. then again, if there is anyone at all who deserves this sort of break and to completely unwind for a night, it is certainly Arelia... and Jon is about to pause his work and go over to the lounge to meet her, yet clearly isn’t fast enough. because, next thing he knows, she is coming over to his home office instead, only to miscalculate the distance and all but walk right into the door frame. and now he does jump up immediately, in a mix of concern and that very childish impulse to laugh whenever this sort of mishap occurs, and is swift to gather her in his arms to bring closer and attempt to steady her a bit more.

‘ are you all right...? why didn’t you call, i would have gone to get you! ‘

[killthebxy]

send ‘pain is weakness leaving the body’ for a randomly generated outcome (alternatively, send it + reversed) // accepting 8. Arya finds Jon with the flu, ft. @scrvetherealm

          he’s got only himself to blame, and he’s well aware of it --- and, yes, it does serve him right for being so obstinate. for he could have payed heed to the clear signs his body was already giving him, as soon as he rose from bed in the early morrow; could have listened when Ser Rodrik mentioned he looked pale and not so well, could have taken the offer to forego sword practice this day and rather get some rest --- but, of course, he did not. what sort of world would this become, after all, if he allowed Robb to become the higher achiever only because of some coughing and wheezing? if he let his rival and best friend surpass him and grow more skilled, only because of a dull headache and a soreness in his muscles? succumbing to this would have shaken the very foundations the land is set on and, granted, no one wants that.

          on the bright side, PERSEVERANCE was well compensated and no difference could be found during sparring and lessons, compared to any other regular day; on the opposite end of the bargain, for it ever existed much as humans so easily tended to forget about it... now that the day is coming to an end and the sun is finding its rest by the line of the horizon, Jon effectively feels like he was run over by a heavy wagon filled with lead bars. small bruises and scratches are customary, even when wielding blunted blades... yet, to this, he has to add throbbing temples threatening to split his skull in half, a fever that he can feel already breaking, and a sense of clogging that has taken over lungs and nose alike and turned simple breathing to a challenge of its own. again, only himself to blame.

          stoic as ever, regardless, it’s not something that Jon would whine to anyone about --- when you grow up without knowing the embrace of A MOTHER to soothe your little mundane tragedies, that’s the surest manner to learn to depend on yourself only. and so he is ready to forsake supper and go find maester Luwin instead, and nurse this silly illness on his own --- when a very familiar, very beloved voice calling his name has the bastard stopping on his tracks. his little sister is the one he does not wish to worry, most of all... which is why he turns around wearing the best smile he can presently muster, never mind the struggle that it is to keep his eyes open and the stuffy tinge to his voice.

‘ are you running from the septa again? ‘