Copperfox
ᴡᴇ ᴡᴇᴀᴠᴇ ᴏᴜʀ ᴛᴀᴘᴇꜱᴛʀʏ ᴛᴏ ᴛɪɢʜᴛ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇᴀʀᴛʜ
Sirysa
When the ship had landed, the sun hid behind grey clouds, darkening the day. Traveling over the water was still something that Sirysa was not used to. Most of the time, the twenty-one-year-old had spend below deck, trying to keep her insides where they belonged to - inside.
The passage had been calm, no one had asked her questions and left her be, though she had noticed eyes on her. Surely, the Mussovy woman looked a lot different than the usual person. It started with her different colored eyes. The left was amber, almost like molten gold and the right was of deep blue, almost like the ocean. Added to that, golden patterns were imprinted on her skin over her body. Even though her skin was somewhat colored in a sand-like tone, she was still somewhat pale.
"Bring the anchor!", someone shouted from the deck above. Finally, the young woman thought, some ground beneath the feet.
Leaving Braavos head-over-heels, the female had purchased the first passage she had found, not asking where it would take her. Surely, it had to be still Essos, right? No one would sail over the Narrow Sea to lands divided by war. That was, what Sirysa at least thought.
During her years in western Essos under the guard of many masters, she had heard about the other land - Westeros. A place divided by war, many people in starving needs and reckless armies pillaging every village left and right to their horses. This was truly not a place for the former priestess to go.
Taking the creaking and damp wooden stairs to the upper deck, the place didn't look familiar nor unfamiliar. Even though she had been sold many times, the world was still a mystery to her. For the first decade of her life, Sirysa had never seen a city, only the thick forest, and the shore of Mussovy. Later on, she had traveled once to Nefer, the closest and only city around. During the travels from one new master to another, her journeys had mostly been on ship, much to her dismay.
Having learned a few languages during that time, she couldn't pinpoint that the current spoken one was the common tongue of Westeros.
As the young female had no belongings of her own, she stepped down from the ship as soon as it had fully anchored. Her legs felt still wobbly from the many days on the ocean, but she was almost confident. The first thing she did was go to the market close by, buying herself some fresh food to fill her stomach. Silently biting into an apple, she pushed the hood of her cloak over her head to gain a few moments without stares.
Walking slowly through the streets of this new city, stories came to her ear. On the ship, she had heard of the latest turmoils from Westeros.
The north had fallen, but got reclaimed only a few days ago by the former bastard of the lands. A great army of a wolf-boy had fallen due to breaking a sworn oath. Another great army had left a forsaken and cursed castle, Harrenhal, to march back to the capital city of those lands.
All those stories were uninteresting, as she only wanted to make her way back to her former home. But the more she heard, the more she came to worry about being at the wrong place. When people started calling the town Fairmarket in the Lands of the Riverlords, all color had left Sirysas skin. Where was she!? Panic climbed up, as there were only a few silver and copper coins left in the small bag that was tied to the belt around her hips. Not enough to buy herself another passage, and the concept of work was strange to her still.
Now searching for evidence, her head moved around in a hurry, feet walking faster, as if that would help her. Sooner or later, her head was spinning due to the realization of being further from home than ever before. With a hitched breath and uncareful eyes, she soon crashed against a person who stood at least half a head taller than her, making her fall backward onto the ground. Luckily, the hood was still on her head. "Forgive me", she spoke in the tongue she had heard in this place, though her words were coated by a heavy and thick accent. Usually, she wouldn't say much more, but maybe that person could clarify where she truly was. "I...", she started, searching for the right words. "I am lost. I need a horse or passage to Nefer", she said, looking up.
During these times, this was probably a naive thing to say. Being lost as a woman was truly no good thing around here, but Sirysa didn't know that just now.
✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧
Jon
"There always has to be a Stark in Winterfell!", those words echoed through Jon's head. A few weeks before, a raven had come to the wall to bring news of Robbs army being slaughtered. He and Catelyn were presumed dead. In the same letter, word of Sansas escape had been made and the red-haired girl sooner or later came to the wall.
Even though the young female hadn't been the most kind to Jon in the past, he had been awfully grateful to see her alive and in one piece. After all, there still had been no word from Arya for months, if not years by now. Reuniting with the little bit of family he had left, new problems surfaced.
The Stark-born girl urged his older half-brother to reclaim Winterfell. It was their true home, the place of the Stark's origin, and the Boltons' rule had been hard and brutal. All the people left in Winterfell seemed to dislike their new rules but were too afraid to rise against them. Jon could not blame them, for he too was scared to face Ramsey Bolton. The young bastard was said to be cruel, even worse than his father and the entire house Bolton.
But when another raven came, from said Bolton, with news about Rickon being held hostage in the dungeons, Jon had to do something. Gathering a few forces that followed him by free will, he soon marched against Ramsay.
The battle of the bastards had been a brutal and grim fight, but with the knights of the Vale they had won. Reclaiming Winterfell shortly after, its people seemed more than just happy that the Starks banners were hanging from everywhere again. The harsh reign of the Boltons was over and Jon was crowned king in the north by the other houses. Thanks to young Lady Mormont, that was. The girl had probably not even seen her tenth name day but was a lot wiser than the other Lords in the Great Hall.
It was a title Jon never wanted. He had not even seen himself as a simple lord of knight, let alone the king of the north! This title belonged to Robb, and Jon was still in denial of his older brother being dead. The wolf was tough, he surely had somehow managed to survive, right?
Having spent some minutes in the godswood, Jon had prayed to the old gods. To bring Robb back and take this burden from him, and if not - to guide him at least. He wondered if the old gods had ever answered someone. Had Robb prayed too? Or father, before he got beheaded?
With heavy footsteps, the bastard returned to the inner yard of Winterfell, torment written all over his face and black curls hanging everywhere they wanted. Today, new people arrived at Winterfell. Some old and loyal to House Stark, giving their strength to help rebuild this place, some new and seeking shelter. Grey eyes looked over the ones coming in, wondering if he should talk to some of them.
Deciding that was something his father would have done, to spread confidence, he walked toward them with stronger steps than before. The torment on his face made way for a more neutral look - at least that was what he opted for. Lord Snow started to talk to a young boy, who had lost his parents due to Ramsay. The boy hoped to be of any use, suggesting he was good with the horses. Jon immediately send him to the stables, before his eyes drifted on a female. She was probably around his age, maybe a few years younger. He wondered if she too had lost her parents, and that already pained him. "And you, young lady?", the newly crowned king in the north asked. Inside, he begged for her to be of some loyal house, here to help.
When the ship had landed, the sun hid behind grey clouds, darkening the day. Traveling over the water was still something that Sirysa was not used to. Most of the time, the twenty-one-year-old had spend below deck, trying to keep her insides where they belonged to - inside.
The passage had been calm, no one had asked her questions and left her be, though she had noticed eyes on her. Surely, the Mussovy woman looked a lot different than the usual person. It started with her different colored eyes. The left was amber, almost like molten gold and the right was of deep blue, almost like the ocean. Added to that, golden patterns were imprinted on her skin over her body. Even though her skin was somewhat colored in a sand-like tone, she was still somewhat pale.
"Bring the anchor!", someone shouted from the deck above. Finally, the young woman thought, some ground beneath the feet.
Leaving Braavos head-over-heels, the female had purchased the first passage she had found, not asking where it would take her. Surely, it had to be still Essos, right? No one would sail over the Narrow Sea to lands divided by war. That was, what Sirysa at least thought.
During her years in western Essos under the guard of many masters, she had heard about the other land - Westeros. A place divided by war, many people in starving needs and reckless armies pillaging every village left and right to their horses. This was truly not a place for the former priestess to go.
Taking the creaking and damp wooden stairs to the upper deck, the place didn't look familiar nor unfamiliar. Even though she had been sold many times, the world was still a mystery to her. For the first decade of her life, Sirysa had never seen a city, only the thick forest, and the shore of Mussovy. Later on, she had traveled once to Nefer, the closest and only city around. During the travels from one new master to another, her journeys had mostly been on ship, much to her dismay.
Having learned a few languages during that time, she couldn't pinpoint that the current spoken one was the common tongue of Westeros.
As the young female had no belongings of her own, she stepped down from the ship as soon as it had fully anchored. Her legs felt still wobbly from the many days on the ocean, but she was almost confident. The first thing she did was go to the market close by, buying herself some fresh food to fill her stomach. Silently biting into an apple, she pushed the hood of her cloak over her head to gain a few moments without stares.
Walking slowly through the streets of this new city, stories came to her ear. On the ship, she had heard of the latest turmoils from Westeros.
The north had fallen, but got reclaimed only a few days ago by the former bastard of the lands. A great army of a wolf-boy had fallen due to breaking a sworn oath. Another great army had left a forsaken and cursed castle, Harrenhal, to march back to the capital city of those lands.
All those stories were uninteresting, as she only wanted to make her way back to her former home. But the more she heard, the more she came to worry about being at the wrong place. When people started calling the town Fairmarket in the Lands of the Riverlords, all color had left Sirysas skin. Where was she!? Panic climbed up, as there were only a few silver and copper coins left in the small bag that was tied to the belt around her hips. Not enough to buy herself another passage, and the concept of work was strange to her still.
Now searching for evidence, her head moved around in a hurry, feet walking faster, as if that would help her. Sooner or later, her head was spinning due to the realization of being further from home than ever before. With a hitched breath and uncareful eyes, she soon crashed against a person who stood at least half a head taller than her, making her fall backward onto the ground. Luckily, the hood was still on her head. "Forgive me", she spoke in the tongue she had heard in this place, though her words were coated by a heavy and thick accent. Usually, she wouldn't say much more, but maybe that person could clarify where she truly was. "I...", she started, searching for the right words. "I am lost. I need a horse or passage to Nefer", she said, looking up.
During these times, this was probably a naive thing to say. Being lost as a woman was truly no good thing around here, but Sirysa didn't know that just now.
✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧
Jon
"There always has to be a Stark in Winterfell!", those words echoed through Jon's head. A few weeks before, a raven had come to the wall to bring news of Robbs army being slaughtered. He and Catelyn were presumed dead. In the same letter, word of Sansas escape had been made and the red-haired girl sooner or later came to the wall.
Even though the young female hadn't been the most kind to Jon in the past, he had been awfully grateful to see her alive and in one piece. After all, there still had been no word from Arya for months, if not years by now. Reuniting with the little bit of family he had left, new problems surfaced.
The Stark-born girl urged his older half-brother to reclaim Winterfell. It was their true home, the place of the Stark's origin, and the Boltons' rule had been hard and brutal. All the people left in Winterfell seemed to dislike their new rules but were too afraid to rise against them. Jon could not blame them, for he too was scared to face Ramsey Bolton. The young bastard was said to be cruel, even worse than his father and the entire house Bolton.
But when another raven came, from said Bolton, with news about Rickon being held hostage in the dungeons, Jon had to do something. Gathering a few forces that followed him by free will, he soon marched against Ramsay.
The battle of the bastards had been a brutal and grim fight, but with the knights of the Vale they had won. Reclaiming Winterfell shortly after, its people seemed more than just happy that the Starks banners were hanging from everywhere again. The harsh reign of the Boltons was over and Jon was crowned king in the north by the other houses. Thanks to young Lady Mormont, that was. The girl had probably not even seen her tenth name day but was a lot wiser than the other Lords in the Great Hall.
It was a title Jon never wanted. He had not even seen himself as a simple lord of knight, let alone the king of the north! This title belonged to Robb, and Jon was still in denial of his older brother being dead. The wolf was tough, he surely had somehow managed to survive, right?
Having spent some minutes in the godswood, Jon had prayed to the old gods. To bring Robb back and take this burden from him, and if not - to guide him at least. He wondered if the old gods had ever answered someone. Had Robb prayed too? Or father, before he got beheaded?
With heavy footsteps, the bastard returned to the inner yard of Winterfell, torment written all over his face and black curls hanging everywhere they wanted. Today, new people arrived at Winterfell. Some old and loyal to House Stark, giving their strength to help rebuild this place, some new and seeking shelter. Grey eyes looked over the ones coming in, wondering if he should talk to some of them.
Deciding that was something his father would have done, to spread confidence, he walked toward them with stronger steps than before. The torment on his face made way for a more neutral look - at least that was what he opted for. Lord Snow started to talk to a young boy, who had lost his parents due to Ramsay. The boy hoped to be of any use, suggesting he was good with the horses. Jon immediately send him to the stables, before his eyes drifted on a female. She was probably around his age, maybe a few years younger. He wondered if she too had lost her parents, and that already pained him. "And you, young lady?", the newly crowned king in the north asked. Inside, he begged for her to be of some loyal house, here to help.
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