#woc:start

[wishtorn]

          the welcome they received at winterfell was warmer than she expected --- but then again, she had taken great pains to limit her expectations on the long journey north. the chill had set in some time past the red fork, and by the time they passed white harbor anya was shivering even beneath heavy furs. better not to expect warmth ; but she was surprised to realize that the hot springs kept the walls ( and apparently the welcomes ) quite as comfortable as was possible, under the circumstances. 

          the women of the north must have stronger spines, she reflected, straightening her back, trying not to hate how small she felt beneath the furs, the walls of winterfell, the heavy, pale-grey sky. tugging her cloak tighter, she coached muscles stiff with cold into a polite smile as she walked along the covered bridge, eyes turning this way and that as she sought to take in as much as she could. ‘ it is quite ... severe, isn’t it ? ’ she mused, with some caution, her tone already apologetic. ‘ remarkable, beautiful really, but --- so grey. ’ the sky, the walls, the banners and clothes. anya could not for the life of her imagine winterfell beneath clear blue skies ; the castle itself seemed to reject the very possibility. and there, peeking out above the guest house, a spray of bright red leaves waving --- waving ominously, at her, but perhaps that was just her imagination again. ‘ of course, northmen might have as much to say about the red keep, ’ she added judiciously.

[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. 

[jaycetempleton]

Jayce wore his bruises with pride. He had done well in the tourney, managing to remain seated throughout the joust and winning several of his defeated opponents’ steeds in the process and proving his mettle in the melee. He had not been named the victor, but it didn’t matter. He had nothing to be ashamed of, and even beaten, he took it all in his stride. The Knight of Ninestars was anything but a sore loser, even despite of his thirst for victory. He was pleased with his efforts, and would challenge any man to mount a horse and attempt to face him, there and then. 

As of yet, there was no need to call for his armour. Some had congratulated him, but none had sought to mock. It had been a pleasant evening thus far, and Jayce was feeling relaxed, mellow even. He sat amongst the noble lords and ladies, near the crackling flames of the fire pit, taking advantage of the drink on offer. He sipped his wine, a deep, full-bodied purple concoction from Dorne. He wasn’t much for Dornish wine, preferring the sweeter vintages of The Reach. Draining his cup, he stood, stretching his arms  and stifling a yawn. He turned to the person sitting nearest to him, not particularly minding who it was. “D’you want to go for a walk with me? If I sit by this fire for much longer, I’m afraid I’ll fall asleep on the spot,” he joked. 

[brckensun-blog]

                     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]

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.”