The doctor's apprentice
Summary: Jon Snow meets a young woman (Marian) who comes to Winterfell in search of medicinal herbs to develop a cure for a mysterious illness which is killing people in Qarth, her home. Will she achieve her goal before it's too late? Who will help/delay her? JS/OC
Disclaimer: Do I own GOT? HA! I wish… (sigh)
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Chapter 1: Thyme
The coldest of sorrows languidly fell from the skies that grey day. Since the break of dawn, this pearly snow had started to pour in very slow motion, as if an army of angels was taking delight in crying the winter out of their icy eyes. Winterfell felt hard and cold like an iceberg, but enchanting and quite alive like a busy hive.
And there he was, standing aimlessly under that white, gentle shower, staring at the folk doing their daily, mundane tasks on this market day… There he was, Jon Snow. Tiny snowflakes rested on his black curls and his black attire. He had taken a minute to observe the busy people in their busy lives.
In spite of the freezing weather conditions, the marketplace seemed to have a life and will of its own. He could hear the people and their never-ending happy yelling, bargaining and soul-eating swearword-shouting; however, that day was a totally different day for some unfathomable reason. Everyone was smiling stupidly, as if they had fallen in love all of a sudden, all at the same time. That was odd. In addition, everyone was humming a joyful melody which Jon didn't know. Had it been any of the folk's traditional ones, he would've recognised it immediately. Some were whistling it, but they hushed whenever Jon was in their way.
Obviously, he felt both curious and threatened by this blissful secret. He regretted his current state of affairs, to put it mildly, but he knew there was no way to avoid being a bastard. You can't escape what you are.
Lord Stark's bastard son.
As such, ever since he was born he was shunned out of major social events or any sort of 'normal' social interaction with those who surrounded him. As a kid it had been hard: how could an inexperienced, young mind like his possibly deal with something he didn't fully grasp? As a kid, he couldn't. However, growing up was no better. He had to learn the hard way, and yet he found himself unable to hate those with whom he shared his blood.
He was unwillingly stuck in that station. Therefore, that day in the marketplace he assumed that the people's sudden shutting up and melody-breaking, cold attitude towards him was another passive yet revolting consequence of his mere, immutable existence. Nevertheless, the people's ongoing puzzling behaviour only spurred his interest more and more.
He decided to walk about and simply observe what was going on. Once he had turned around the corner, he spotted a young woman of the same age he was in the middle of the main square. And it was she who was playing a guitar and was singing those same mysterious joyful tunes which were being blissfully copied around town.
Children had gathered around her like bees around their hive, drinking from the lovely honey of her sweet, magnetic voice. The tiny snowflakes which dared to touch her skin melted almost instantly, and those which fell on her hair remained and looked as if they were exotic pearls. Her dark eyes and dark wavy hair were strikingly beautiful, but her lips were second to no other of her features: rosy and silky like the youngest of blooming flowers.
He didn't recognise her because, in fact, she was a foreigner in Winterfell. Jon Snow immediately knew it the second he had spotted her, since her clothing was strange to Winterfell's fashion: a light blue dress with some white, light pink and light salmon-coloured seashells sewn to it and a light baby blue cloak with white-furred edges.
As soon as she was done singing the song, the children sheepishly and rather reluctantly came back to their homes because their parents were calling them to have lunch or to help doing the housework. But it was midday and the market was still flooded with the people's frenzy to get the best products to be able to spend the coming winter as comfortably as possible. Thus, now that she was apparently alone, she obviously wanted to resume the task she had in mind. He could see her determination as she was packing her personal belongings: that was when she spotted Jon Snow and approached him directly. Usually, people ignored him.
That was odd. Again.
"Excuse me, may I ask for some information? I'm looking for Maester Luwin." Her agreeable voice proclaimed rather enthusiastically.
Winterfell was getting colder as days went by and Jon Snow, attired in the brand new dark-coloured furs which would keep anyone at bay, a mark of his destiny to the Wall, instinctively blinked a couple of times to readjust to the new situation: he was not just observing her then, he actually had to interact and answer her question sort of nowish. That was weird, especially because girls never wanted to interact with him. As usual, being a bastard was the culprit.
"If you'd be so kind to tell me, please…" She added consciously and politely as she blinked once, seeing that Jon was a bit dumbfounded. She was obviously displaying more self-awareness and boldness than any other girl her age in that remarkably cold region.
"Who's asking, pray?" Jon Snow answered rather coldly, although he didn't mean to be rude or impolite, but her straightforwardness and the surrounding hectic were overwhelming him. Besides, another person's interest in him had never been beneficial to his well-being. There was always something weird going on, something in which he had nothing positive to hope for.
"Miss Marian Bluegin, from Qarth." She answered smiling gently, interacting with him with a warm, quite normal formality; and for a split second Jon forgot his own name.
"From Q-Qarth?" He whispered bewildered, stammering a bit, which didn't quite fit his handsomeness – or so she thought. He fell silent for a couple of seconds but he went on eventually. "You come from one of the best-provided cities in the world and still you've come to Winterfell on market day, looking for old Maester Luwin." He said rather amused by that new information. "How is that so? What can the old man possibly offer to a young woman from Qarth, may I ask?"
Jon was thinking he was right asking about that, but his bluntness and curiosity were not welcome. A smile was faintly drawn on his lips and, although he was not conceited at all, it accidentally seemed as if he was.
"That's rather personal." She answered neutrally, just trying to be nice. "I need to speak with him about a private matter concerning medical assistance."
Marian eyed him suspiciously wondering whether he actually knew the old man she was looking for or not. Since her beauty was too striking to go unnoticed, she had got used to dealing with womanizers and rude men during her journey. A single young woman travelling in that land had to undergo certain inconveniences and be very brave. That was why she was carrying a couple of knives under her cloak. She could also handle a bow and arrows quite well. Better be safe than sorry.
Since Jon didn't give her any clues as regards Maester Luwin's whereabouts, Marian decided to end that nonsense altogether.
"Look, I'm not really into small talk, so if you excuse me…" Marian eventually said trying hard to veil the fact that she was mildly pissed off. She knew that handsome guys like that one could easily be jerks.
"I'm awfully sorry." He rushed to say with a trembling, sheepish voice, hesitating on which words to use. "I didn't mean to…"
Before Jon could open his mouth to elaborate on his apology for his sharpness, a boy started screaming. Both Marian and Jon turned around to see what had happened. That boy was hurt: his right hand was profusely bleeding on his palm. Some people started to panic and left an empty circle around the boy.
"Dear Gods!" Marian gasped as she made her way towards the boy. "Come, let me handle this." She added as she squatted down in front of him in the street.
Her hands came closer to him and got hold of the boy's right hand so that she could examine it closely. He just had a cut on his forefinger extending to the centre of the back of his hand. It would need some stiches, but he was crying as if his hand had just been cut off. His overreacting didn't really bother Marian: she knew how to deal with children.
"Now, stop crying. You're a grown-up lad, right? Are you the butcher's son?" She said quite motherly and straightforwardly as she sweetly stared into his eyes. Then, the boy became too shy to hold her gaze and stared at the snowy floor, then stained with his blood, scared to even breathe, but then she went on speaking as sweetly as before: "You're helping your parents to cut and sell meat in the marketplace, I see. That's great… But you have to be more careful with knives. This wound is no big deal. I can help you, but you have to stop crying. Hey. Look at me…It'll be alright. I promise."
Then, she cupped the boy's chin with his free hand and gently she made him face her. As she smiled at him, he stopped crying and calmed down. As soon as she had said those soothing words, the boy's aunt, who happened to be passing by, came closer and introduced herself.
Jon Snow was amazed at Marian's ability to soothe that poor boy. A few seconds had been more than enough to change his mood and calm him down. Even Jon was feeling the soothing effects of her voice, as if he could feel goose bumps on his soul.
"I'm going to cure you. We need to disinfect the wound. Have you got thyme at home by any chance?" Marian asked the boy. He just shook his head in denial. "Don't worry…Is this your home? Yes?"
His aunt confirmed it immediately.
"Let's go inside. I'll clean the wound first." Marian concluded.
She made the boy enter his homestead as his mother was rushing to him. The woman was a bundle of bad temper and nerves, but who could blame her for being worried? As the mother was hugging him and taking him to the kitchen, the kid eyed back to Marian and, with a special dark interest, to Jon Snow.
Then, Marian turned to Jon as she rose from her squatting position. A gentle cold breeze hit both their faces with the first snowflakes in some years. Winter was coming…
Jon couldn't help but staring at her for some precious seconds, as if he was a moth drawn into the candlelight. Then, she looked at him quite coyly and briefly smiled at him, as if she was suddenly shy. Some snowflakes had settled on his bewitching black curls. She bit her lower lip for just a brief instant as she stared at him and then she asked him straightforwardly as if she knew what he would eventually answer:
"Can anyone get me some thyme around here?" The question was meant only for him, although she was too proud to acknowledge that by saying the correct pronoun.
"Sure." Jon replied rather sheepishly, his voice very much like a warm whisper then. "Maester Luwin should have some. I'll go and fetch him and some thyme for you right away."
Marian saw the change of attitude and thought she might have been a bit rash as regards judging him. His half apology had also been quite childish in its performance. It was almost as if he was unaccustomed to talk to the female sex. In spite of his timidity, he smiled at her with such a warmth as if they had known each other for years and then he disappeared in this engulfing sea of marketplace people. Somehow Marian felt there was something deeply mysterious and lonesome, but also appealing about him.
A few seconds later, she came into the butcher's home and found the boy, his mother and his aunt in the kitchen.
"Let me help you clean the wound. A young man will bring some thyme shortly, don't you worry." Then, Marian asked the boy whispering: "Do you know him by the way?"
"Yes, he's Jon Snow. He's…" The boy answered quickly, but his voice soon stopped due to sudden hesitation. He eyed suspiciously at the elder women present. Then, he hissed as Marian poured cold water on his wound.
"He's… what?"
"He's Lord Stark's bastard son." His mother suddenly whispered to her as if she was ashamed to say those words. "Whoever named Snow as a surname is a bastard from the North."
"But he's a really good man, m'lady. I swear!" The boy suddenly rushed to tell Marian.
"Benjamin!" His mother scolded him.
"I'm not a lady." She commented quite happily and giggled at him a bit. "But you flatter me…"
She seemed happy then, but somehow the mother's scolding seemed to be intended to hide something and she frowned a little. The conversation gently died soon after that, but Marian couldn't stop thinking about this young man she had just met.
'Jon Snow…a bastard from the North.' She thought. 'And a good man. I guess.'
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A few minutes later, Jon Snow returned with dear old and balding Maester Luwin, who was holding a glass bottle containing thyme liquid extract and rushing to see if the boy had been badly hurt or not – and to meet this young lady who was soothing him so wonderfully. Jon had portrayed a brief but heavenly description of her to him, which had spurred the old man's interest in meeting her personally as soon as possible.
"Come in, please, Maester Luwin." The boy's father, the butcher, said gently but firmly. He had come shortly after the incident, as soon as he had been told about it. "They're expecting you. They're in the kitchen cleaning the wound."
The three men went inside, although the butcher didn't seem pleased to let a bastard into his home. His face showed his contempt for him. Since it was a commonly displayed feeling towards him, Jon realised of it immediately but paid no special notice. The attitude was too obvious to go unnoticed, but he was used to it.
"Praise the Old Gods!" Maester Luwin exclaimed seeing the boy's wound. "You're lucky, Benjamin!" He said relieved. "Very lucky! This young lady has taken good care of you, I see. Now that the wound has been cleaned properly, we can proceed by applying some thyme liquid extract to disinfect it… Thank you, by the way, … er…"
"Miss Marian Bluegin, Maester Luwin. Nice to meet you." She said gently as Maester Luwin poured some of the disinfecting liquid on the boy's hand.
To his relief, it didn't hurt much. So he stopped frowning and making funny faces. Both Marian and Jon chuckled lightly at his childish reaction. The fact that they had both displayed the same automatic reaction made them glimpse each other for just a second. Somehow Jon felt embarrassed by that, but Marian just let her eyes rest on little Benjamin's hand.
"We'll talk later, Miss Bluegin." Maester Luwin swiftly answered once he was done with the thyme liquid. "Now we need to take care of sewing the wound. It'll need some stiches."
"I can do it, if you don't mind of course, Maester Luwin." She offered happily.
Maester Luwin eyed her amazed, but if she had taken care of the boy until then so industriously, did it mean that she could properly stitch his wound too? Was she able of such a thing? Was she some sort of doctor? Did she know what to do exactly? Therefore, when he dared to utter his honest doubts to her, he did so in slight disbelief, but expecting to obtain a surprising answer on her behalf. She didn't take it badly. As an answer she smiled warmly and said:
"I'm a doctor's apprentice, Maester Luwin. I can prove it to you." She said with confidence.
He smiled back and looked satisfied. And her work on the poor boy's hand was enough proof of her word.
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A few minutes later that same day, Maester Luwin had been summoned by Lord Stark to talk about some issues concerning some current issues of the daily routine in Winterfell.
"But tell me Maester Luwin," Lord Stark went on. "you've been talking to this young lady for a while. If she cured the butcher's eldest son, does this mean that this young woman is a doctor?"
"No, not really. Let me explain." Maester Luwin answered keenly. They had been postponing their duties for some minutes as they chatted about what had happened earlier that day in the marketplace. "Miss Marian Bluegin is only an apprentice, but she gives a lot of importance to self-teaching. I'm told she has been travelling all across Westeros in search of the best physicians, doctors and healers, to learn from them of course, and she reads a lot as well – anything that she can find of medical value on her way. But she's not a doctor per se. But I guess that's just a matter of time, my lord."
"Interesting." Lord Stark seemed to muse on something else as he stroked his chin.
"What is more, she's travelling on her own, but she won't be talked out of it although it's quite dangerous for a woman. She's stubborn and possesses an admiring degree of determination, I must say. She says she knows the risks and claims to be good at defending herself." Maester Luwin stated rather amused by it. "She owns a nice couple of knives and a bow and arrows – and she claims she knows how to use them properly."
"She knew your name, didn't she? How come?" Lord Stark inquired quite seriously, as if he suspected her intentions.
"She says she had heard of my reputation a few miles south from here. That's why she decided to come to Winterfell." Maester Luwin answered flatly. "She wants my knowledge, my lord."
"And you say this quest of hers is meant to provide some sort of medicine or cure for a mysterious, lethal illness in Qarth. If no doctors from Qarth itself have a clue about what to do, it must be something big… and an extremely dangerous illness. Qarth is enormous and quite advanced in all fields, especially commerce." Lord Stark was not happy at all. That could have serious consequences. "Is the field of medicine also advanced there?"
"Yes, my lord, and I'm afraid this serious illness could be something big." Maester Luwin added with a heavy sigh. "She's told me that the nature of this illness is quite strange, since it doesn't infect everyone and develop in the same way. Its development and spreading pattern to present day is confusing. Every single doctor from Qarth and abroad is appalled by the facts presented to them before their eyes." Maester Luwin's eyes distilled his biggest fears. "So far she hasn't met a doctor who could provide any straightforward solution. And neither could I, to be sure. She was devastated."
"Is there any chance she could be infected?" Lord Stark asked quite darkly, thinking of the welfare of the people under his command and protection.
"I think we should trust her, she's clean. The illness is found only in men, my lord. Or so she says."
"Let's hope so."
After a few seconds in complete silence, Lord Stark spoke again. The severity in his voice had worn off.
"And you say my son, Jon, has met her, right?"
"Yes, my lord. He came to fetch me and then he told me about her." Maester Luwin told Lord Stark with a gentle smirk on his face.
"Why do you smile that way, pray? I've never seen you smile like this in a very long time." Lord Stark asked quite amused due to Maester Luwin's automatic reaction.
"It's nothing, my lord." He excused himself. "But I had been young once too… you know." He giggled a bit.
Lord Stark smiled back to him and understood what Maester Luwin was wondering about.
"I wish to speak with her, Maester Luwin. Can you bring her to me now, please?" Lord Stark asked rather seriously, but keen.
"Sure, my lord."
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"I was looking forward to meeting you, Miss Bluegin." Lord Stark said rising from his chair as Marian and Maester Luwin came in.
Maester Luwin was surprised to see that Robb was also present, the eldest son and heir standing with pride next to his father, but he didn't say a word even though his eyes revealed an unruly curiosity for the young lady. His dark hair resembled much to Jon's, she had noticed it immediately.
"I humbly thank you for receiving me, although I don't deserve such attention, m'lord." She answered politely, wondering who the young one beside Lord Stark was. She assumed he must've been a legitimate child of his whose age was similar to Jon's.
"But you do deserve my attention: tell me, Miss Bluegin," Lord Stark proceeded with a keen interest in her – and she could clearly sense it, like Robb's penetrating gaze on her. "don't you think I'd get interested in someone who cares about the children under my protection and cures them despite not knowing them at all?"
"Well, I never treat people differently, m'lord. They're all equal to me. Young or old. Rich or poor. Men or women. Neighbours or foreign people. That's what my father taught me." She said rather formally, but warmly.
"Are we all equals, Miss Bluegin? Am I to understand that you're defying the nobility of Westeros?" Lord Stark giggled a bit at the thought, but he never implied to be rude or aggressive.
"Is that the impression that I've given you so far, Lord Stark?" She elaborated as calmly as she could muster although she felt under attack. "Do illnesses or wounds treat you differently from the rest of the mortals, m'lord?" She made a pause. "Or death, for that matter?"
Silence reigned in the room then. Lord Stark saw she didn't mean trouble, although her mind and tongue were sharp like a blade. She wasn't defying the concept of nobility, she was just telling him she didn't mind curing those who were poor or unknown to her. It was obvious that she just thought of the well-fare of absolutely every soul around her, which was admirable. Robb was also positively impressed by her attitude and her ideas.
"Your father is a very wise man. I apologise if I have been rude to you, Miss Bluegin. I never meant to say anything which would bother you." Lord Stark apologised warmly.
"Thank you. I apologise if I have been rude to you too, m'lord. It was purely accidental." She went back to her normal, usual self.
"Can I ask you some questions before Maester Luwin shares his medical knowledge with you?" Lord Stark asked politely.
"Sure, no problem, m'lord."
"He's told me your story, but he was quite brief, I think. Would you like to expand on the aim of your quest, please?"
"The aim of my quest is to gather as much knowledge and herbs as possible so that I can develop a cure to a strange illness which is killing hundreds of men back home, in Qarth. Its wake is usually slow and painful – and unfortunately, it started affecting my father as well, soon before I decided to start my journey. I was hoping to find some evidence of it here in Westeros, but I think this illness hasn't spread here – fortunately for you, unfortunately for me, of course."
"Unfortunately for you?" He raised an eyebrow at that comment.
"Yes, if you had known about this illness, that would've meant I wasn't alone fighting against this." She said rather hopelessly and then she sighed. Robb's eyes saddened due to her words. His empathy was more than obvious. "Or maybe developed a cure we've been unable to find."
"How many doctors and healers have you met so far?" Lord Stark asked.
"I've lost count, but I've met the best doctors from all cities south and west of King's Landing and for the last few months I've been meeting some doctors in Valle of Arryn and nearby… That's when I heard about Winterfell and Maester Luwin."
"And you came straight here."
"Why not? The people I met along the way loved you and claim your good reputation. I think I have done right." She said with great determination.
"You may have." Lord Stark saw her sincerity from the very beginning. She was an extremely kind, noble, young woman. "I hope that you can find here what you're looking for. Should you ever need my help, I'd be glad to come to your assistance, Miss Bluegin."
"That's too generous on your behalf, m'lord…" She answered as if she was embarrassed.
"Unfortunately, I know very little about medicine. So I assume I'd be of little assistance in that matter." Lord Stark admitted a bit too honestly. "But I can provide you somewhere to stay and food, if you let me. This will be my treat. I'm in your debt since you cured that child."
"Nonsense! You don't owe me anything at all!" She exclaimed bit too straightforwardly. "… m'lord. I can manage on my own. You don't have to worry about me or…"
"Absolutely not, Miss Bluegin. Please accept my invitation: I've already given orders that a room should be cleaned and prepared for you, quite close to Maester Luwin's study room. You'll stay as long as you need and eat with us all meals."
He actually thought she might mean some fresh air in the little society of Winterfell. Not many travellers would stay for longer than a couple of days, since the weather was not generally inviting. Once their business was over, they left soon afterwards. In fact, he was thinking about his offspring, actually: Robb didn't seem keen to find a woman to marry yet (or the best matches were living too far from Winterfell), Arya was mad at her elder sister Sansa and was in need of a new friend and a more feminine role model than Robb or Jon, Sansa was bored with her girlfriends and couldn't help daydreaming of going abroad and meeting new people, Theon Greyjoy was nothing but trouble, Bran was unable to focus on his training and kept climbing walls too often… and Jon was thinking of going to the Wall and become a soldier of the Night's Watch because he didn't quite fit in Winterfell – or no one thought he could, that is. Her long stay could be an enriching experience for them all before life would actually tear them apart – or that's what he was hoping for.
"I thank you… a lot…, Lord Stark. I…" Marian managed to utter, but surprise had left her speechless. "I… have… no words to express my gratitude right now."
"You may thank me later – don't worry, child. By the way," Lord Stark added, spiking her interest right when she thought it was over. "we're receiving a very important visit in a couple of weeks or so. Would you feel imposed on if the King and the royal family sat by our side at the table, Miss Bluegin? You don't need to be frightened of so many of us around you." He asked smiling at her.
"Do I look scared of nobles?" She asked smirking quite boldly, which made Robb smile back.
"I beg your pardon, but you do when it comes to expressing gratitude, Miss Bluegin…" Lord Stark said smiling broadly, but not meaning naught. Seeing that she breathed a bit deeplier than normal and didn't dare to answer anything after that, Lord Stark decided to stop pushing her. "It's fine, Miss Bluegin. I apologise if I've been rude now." His gently smile put her immediately at ease.
"Don't worry about it, m'lord." She said smiling briefly.
"You may go now. Check if the chamber suits you, and if there's anything I can do for you, you just need to ask for it. I'm expecting to see you at supper."
"Again, thank you very much, Lord Stark. You're extremely generous."
Having said that, she left feeling Robb's eyes glued to her back.
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Maester Luwin accompanied Marian as they went to her chamber. Soon he left her to herself.
There were top-quality items everywhere. The wood was thick and good. The bed sheets had golden embroiderings. There were bronze decorations everywhere. The candles were quite thick and pure white. And there were books… plenty of books on the shelves. Now this was an improvement compared to the last few months!
"Wow… This is beyond amazing!" She whispered to herself, flabbergasted to see such a luxurious place. "This is meant to be my chamber?! These people are nuts!"
And loaded. Or so it seemed to her.
She gasped at every single expensive thing or detail she discovered as her eyes roamed around her chamber. She wasn't a noble young woman, but she was the daughter of a doctor back home, and that meant something. Since she was little, she was used to seeing luxury and wealth in his father's richest patients' homes.
In particular, she became a really close friend of a boy who was the only heir of an extremely successful merchant in Qarth. His name was Josua. Her father treated his whole family and, as time went by, both men – doctor and patient – became great friends. Therefore, she was brought to their home every now and them despite the class difference.
Josua and she were the same age. They used to play every afternoon in their back garden: it was her favourite place in the whole world. She could actually smell peace and quiet if she closed her eyes and remained silent. The sound of the water of a nearby well had had soothing effects on her. The golden, warm sun would pour his rays on them and made them feel its warmth of their skins. Plants and lush exotic flowers surrounded them and it made them feel as if they were happily playing in paradise. Thyme grew tall and strong – and she loved to smell it every day. And Josua loved it when she enjoyed their flowers.
And now that she was there, in one of Winterfell's luxurious chambers, she was reminded of that level of wealth, although Winterfell and Lord Stark's abode were completely different from Josua's home in Qarth. However, the mere remembrance made her smile warmly.
One of those blissful afternoons, somehow she ended up holding hands with Josua by the thyme bushes and he suddenly promised he'd marry her. They were just a couple of ten-year-olds. She giggled at the prospect and he thought she was not taking him seriously, so all of a sudden he frowned, pulled her closer and kissed her right cheek. Naturally, she froze… and he left in a rush.
They never spoke about that ever since, but she honestly thought that neither of them had forgotten about it. She never would. The thing was that time went by, obligations made them live in different environments and their friendship grew colder due to distance. She began to study and practice medicine; he began to follow his father's steps, travelling and trading goods in several different countries.
Marian then sat on her new bed in Winterfell and sighed as she remembered how they sadly grew apart. Her eyes were lost outside the window, focusing on the falling snow from Winterfell. She was confused and she knew it: other girls knew for sure whether they fancied a boy, but she was unable to tell the difference between missing and fancying a former friend from childhood.
The only thing she knew for sure was that, just a few months ago, Josua had come back for her one evening at her home, but he didn't stay for long. Actually, he might've felt ashamed or something, since he sneaked into her room when she wasn't there. He climbed to her balcony. She accidentally caught him climbing down from it when he was already leaving, but when their gazes met, he suddenly felt horribly ashamed, blushed and fled immediately.
In spite of his sudden flight, he had had enough time to do what he had intended to do. He left a gift for her on her desk: a generous, lovely bouquet of thyme and a note which said "Thyme to disinfect any doubts in your heart. I haven't forgotten my promise". She had definitely felt something strong enough to make her blush and freeze completely when she realised what that meant. But it was too late: she picked up her suitcase and left to Westeros. The ship wouldn't wait for her much longer. She had a quest to fulfil and no time to lose.
Quite literally.
And when she found herself so far away from home that wintry afternoon, in such a cold place like Winterfell, Marian felt overcome with fear and homesickness like never before.
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