Post by oathkeeper on Jul 15, 2014 21:48:47 GMT -6
~~~
For the longest of times, Jon had questioned if he had made the right decision.
He never wanted to leave his brothers upon The Wall behind, knowing that he would forfeit his honor and duty as a loyal man to the Night's Watch. To this day, the grizzled Northerner wonders what Sam or Pyp or even the Old Bear himself thinks of the bastard to the beloved Eddard Stark? Coward? Fool? Deserter? All of them? As much as Jon vainly tried to reassure that he rode down for his brother Robb, for The North, the guilt still haunted him to this day. Even now, in the darkest of nights laying on some makeshift bed, he could hear the uneasy breezes blow by and see the seven-hundred foot drop off the top of The Wall.
"Do you think anything is going to be in there, Jon?" a familiar young voice called towards the Crow, the Northerner perking his head up as he shifted his black cloak awkwardly. Blinking his stoic ash eyes, the finely-toned young man caught gaze of the fearless Robb Stark, his half-brother who he sacrificed everything to fight aside in the hopes of retrieving what was left of their family safe. Bastard or not, this was his true family, and even though Jon still felt jealous in his heart for being nothing more in the shadows of Robb's titles and honor, he would not idly stand by and watch more of his family butchered before him.
"A'ye, we have to at least try. More swords means more men that can fight, or if anything Gold Dragons, your grace." Jon's lips pulled themselves upwards at the faintest of a weak smile, Robb rolling his Tully sapphires annoyingly as he punched his brother's shoulders. Smirking, Jon dusted off the sides of his black cloak, remembering fondly of the day when Robb said, "next time I'll see you, you'll be all in black".
"Call me that again and I'll throw you at The Wall myself, Jon." Robb retorted as the two brothers held a brief chuckle, the King in the North sighing heavily as he glanced around in the war-tent the two brothers stood in. "I'd already sent a few men to wait at the entrance. If anything happens Jon, get out of there. I already have to bury Father and Lord Hoster when I'm done with this war, I don't want to bury you as well." Robb stated worryingly, Jon nodding as he began to make his way out of Robb's tent that had been fashioned in the courtyard of the crumbling fortress of Harrenhall.
"Don't worry about me, Stark. Worry about your war." Jon mumbled under his breath as he left, stomping through the courtyard of Harrenhall as mud splattered under his boots as the miasma of death still lingered in the air. Bodies were being dragged and hoisted by bannermen loyal to House Stark, the sight sickening and gag-inducing. As he rode with Robb through those rusty gates the first time, as they all laid their eyes upon the dead and smelt their flesh decaying for miles, Jon had for once been utterly horrified. Yet, on the same token, revenge burned brighter in his heart not only for his father but for the lands he called home.
Eventually reaching the iron-barred gates of Harrenhall's abandoned dungeon, five battle-harden soldiers bowed politely to the young Lord Snow. The steel bars were lowered, Jon wincing as he heard the metal screech and partially collapse before him. Timidly steeping forward, Jon reached over to grab an unlit torch, lighting it with a flint-and-steel and holding the flame outwards in his left hand. A cobblestone staircase greeted his eyes, moss hanging from the ceiling as the darkness that welcomed him could only be described as an abyss of uncertainty and that of the unknown.
Mustering up his courage, he turned briefly back. "Two men wait here, and two at the bottom of the staircase You will follow me." Jon gave orders, finishing as he looked down at a young boy no older than that of even Robb who barely looked like that of a soldier. Soon, the party ventured into these accursed catacombs, the descent into the dungeon eerily quiet save for the tapping of boots and the dripping of water that had seeped through the withering stone. Barely able to see ahead of him, even with the blazing torch in his left hand, the Bastard of Winterfell eventually placed his feet upon flat ground as a claustrophobic, maze-like, labyrinth of darkness he never thought was possible laid before.
Gulping as he slowly took a few steps forward, Jon lifted the torch around, three Northerners funneling into the dungeons behind him.
If only the bastard knew what horrors would lie within.
He never wanted to leave his brothers upon The Wall behind, knowing that he would forfeit his honor and duty as a loyal man to the Night's Watch. To this day, the grizzled Northerner wonders what Sam or Pyp or even the Old Bear himself thinks of the bastard to the beloved Eddard Stark? Coward? Fool? Deserter? All of them? As much as Jon vainly tried to reassure that he rode down for his brother Robb, for The North, the guilt still haunted him to this day. Even now, in the darkest of nights laying on some makeshift bed, he could hear the uneasy breezes blow by and see the seven-hundred foot drop off the top of The Wall.
"Do you think anything is going to be in there, Jon?" a familiar young voice called towards the Crow, the Northerner perking his head up as he shifted his black cloak awkwardly. Blinking his stoic ash eyes, the finely-toned young man caught gaze of the fearless Robb Stark, his half-brother who he sacrificed everything to fight aside in the hopes of retrieving what was left of their family safe. Bastard or not, this was his true family, and even though Jon still felt jealous in his heart for being nothing more in the shadows of Robb's titles and honor, he would not idly stand by and watch more of his family butchered before him.
"A'ye, we have to at least try. More swords means more men that can fight, or if anything Gold Dragons, your grace." Jon's lips pulled themselves upwards at the faintest of a weak smile, Robb rolling his Tully sapphires annoyingly as he punched his brother's shoulders. Smirking, Jon dusted off the sides of his black cloak, remembering fondly of the day when Robb said, "next time I'll see you, you'll be all in black".
"Call me that again and I'll throw you at The Wall myself, Jon." Robb retorted as the two brothers held a brief chuckle, the King in the North sighing heavily as he glanced around in the war-tent the two brothers stood in. "I'd already sent a few men to wait at the entrance. If anything happens Jon, get out of there. I already have to bury Father and Lord Hoster when I'm done with this war, I don't want to bury you as well." Robb stated worryingly, Jon nodding as he began to make his way out of Robb's tent that had been fashioned in the courtyard of the crumbling fortress of Harrenhall.
"Don't worry about me, Stark. Worry about your war." Jon mumbled under his breath as he left, stomping through the courtyard of Harrenhall as mud splattered under his boots as the miasma of death still lingered in the air. Bodies were being dragged and hoisted by bannermen loyal to House Stark, the sight sickening and gag-inducing. As he rode with Robb through those rusty gates the first time, as they all laid their eyes upon the dead and smelt their flesh decaying for miles, Jon had for once been utterly horrified. Yet, on the same token, revenge burned brighter in his heart not only for his father but for the lands he called home.
Eventually reaching the iron-barred gates of Harrenhall's abandoned dungeon, five battle-harden soldiers bowed politely to the young Lord Snow. The steel bars were lowered, Jon wincing as he heard the metal screech and partially collapse before him. Timidly steeping forward, Jon reached over to grab an unlit torch, lighting it with a flint-and-steel and holding the flame outwards in his left hand. A cobblestone staircase greeted his eyes, moss hanging from the ceiling as the darkness that welcomed him could only be described as an abyss of uncertainty and that of the unknown.
Mustering up his courage, he turned briefly back. "Two men wait here, and two at the bottom of the staircase You will follow me." Jon gave orders, finishing as he looked down at a young boy no older than that of even Robb who barely looked like that of a soldier. Soon, the party ventured into these accursed catacombs, the descent into the dungeon eerily quiet save for the tapping of boots and the dripping of water that had seeped through the withering stone. Barely able to see ahead of him, even with the blazing torch in his left hand, the Bastard of Winterfell eventually placed his feet upon flat ground as a claustrophobic, maze-like, labyrinth of darkness he never thought was possible laid before.
Gulping as he slowly took a few steps forward, Jon lifted the torch around, three Northerners funneling into the dungeons behind him.
If only the bastard knew what horrors would lie within.
yaaaaay Clint bears <3