ChaCha again, Yet another chapter for all my darling readers. Book spoliers, I don't own anything, you know the drill. Thanks to all of you for supporting this story. Lots of Love.
Josslyn slammed the door as hard as she could behind her, before running. Tears blurred her vision, but her feet knew what to do. She found a servant and asked them to tell her garrison to be ready to ride as early as possible. The servant stared at her tear stained face and disheveled hair, but Josslyn didn't give a damn what he thought. She left him standing in the hall and ran back to her room. When she threw the door open she saw Summer waiting patiently on her bed. The tears came harder. When she looked at Summer, all she could see was Bran. In a fit of rage, she grabbed the wolf by the scruff of the neck, instantly realizing her mistake as she heard him growl, but he never turned to bite her.
She dragged the dire wolf to the open door and tossed him out, and before he could turn around and dart back into her room, she screamed at him "No, you thrice damned wolf, get out!" Summer barred his lips in a silent snarl, but all her fear of the wolf was gone. She knew he wouldn't hurt her.
"Hear me roar indeed," she glanced beyond the wolf to see Sandor standing in the hall, and if her appearance surprised him, it didn't show on his half burned face.
"Get out, Hound," she snarled, the noise harsh and angry to her own ears, and she turned around slamming the door behind her and bolting it shut behind her. She took several steps to the bed, but collapsed on the floor in a pathetic heap before she made it half way there. She sobbed, yelled and pulled her hair. She didn't care what anyone thought of her right now, her grief was too huge to care. She was vaguely aware of Summer throwing himself against the door, clawing and whining to get in, but she just ignored him. The wolf was a constant reminder of Bran, and she couldn't handle it.
She'd fallen in love with him nearly as soon as she'd met him. He'd ridden up to her on the road, so proud, so confident, that she instantly knew who he was, without even looking at the dire wolf emblazoned on his cloak. When they had had dinner together, it was all over for her. She remembered the day that she'd asked her mother how she would know she was in love. Her mother had smiled, "That's a hard thing to explain my little love, I knew the instant I saw your father. I felt like I could be myself around him. He was the air that I so desperately needed to breathe, the food that gave me nourishment, the blood that coursed though my veins"
Summer had finally given up at the door, but Josslyn remained on the floor unable to move. Stop this, she thought. You're a gods damned Lannister, have a little pride. But even those thoughts wound move her. Her mother's words kept echoing in her head. My air, my nourishment, my life. She lay there for what felt like hours until she heard a commotion outside the door. Summer must have come back, she thought. But she heard voices, all familiar.
"Lady Josslyn," she heard Sansa call through the door. She wanted to tell her to go away but when her mouth opened, her voice failed her. How could he not think he was good enough? she thought. How could he think I gave two shits about him not walking. It was him she loved, not a handsome Lord, not a tall powerful man, but her Bran. He put her soul at ease, an ease she sorely missed right now. There were more voices outside the door now. Why won't they just leave me be?
An all mighty crash echoed around the room as her door was kicked in, but still she didn't even flinch. Strong arms picked her up off the floor and she heard hushed voices giving orders. She was laid on the bed, and felt Summer's weight at the foot. "Stupid wolf," she muttered to herself, not knowing if she was speaking of Summer or his master. She felt delicate hands brush the hair from her face and she looked up to see Sansa standing over her. Josslyn had never been more glad that Sansa looked nothing like Bran before.
"Are you ill?" Sansa asked, her blue eyes boring into her. Josslyn summoned the energy to shake her head. "Do you need me to call Tommen?" Again Josslyn could only shake her head. She hated herself for being so weak. My air, my nourishment, my life. "Please Josslyn," Sansa implored, dropping all her courtly manners, "Tell me what's wrong." This time Josslyn couldn't even shake her head, she just trembled as another wave of sobs wracked her body. She felt Summer place his head on her thigh, in an attempt to comfort her. Why doesn't he just go back to his master? It's not as if I'm important. She'd always thought of the constant presence of the wolf as yet another sign of Bran's affection, but it was clear the wolf was just confused.
Sansa had just placed a cool cloth on Josslyn's neck, when Arya came stomping in through the permanently open door. "You didn't have to kick it in Sandor," she snapped before dragging her sister away and speaking to her in hushed voices. When Sansa returned to her side, she clasped her hand and whispered, "I'm so sorry Josslyn. But he'll come around." Josslyn laughed bitterly, the sound horrible to her own ears. She just shut her eyes and tried to sleep.
The captain of her garrison came to her at first light, telling her they were ready to ride. After Arya and Sansa had left her last night, thinking she was asleep, she had risen and packed her things, leaving only the dark blue silk gown, that she had worn to dinner her first night in Winterfell. She was aware that it was foolish to wear the gown riding, but she didn't care. If she was to leave, it'd be in a fashion that would leave a lasting memory on Lord Stark.
She brushed her hair, wondering where she should go. Lords Karstark and Bolton had invited her to visit, and although she could use their humorous, bawdy company, she knew that everything in the North would remind her of him. She looked in the polished mirror and saw that she looked only a little better than she felt. Her eyes were rimmed with red from lack of sleep, her pale skin looking sickly and her normally bright and alive eyes were glossed over with sadness.
She pinched her cheeks in an attempt to give a little color back to her ashen face, quickly braided her hair and dressed grabbing a large heavy woolen cloak. Her captain was waiting for her outside her room, watching her with worried eyes. He'd been with her family for years before Casterly Rock, and knew her as well as her own father. He knew when something was wrong, but was smart enough to keep his own council.
When she set foot in the courtyard, Arya and Sansa's children pounced on her, begging her not to go. She smiled brightly at them, a smile she knew didn't quite reach her eyes. "If your parents would like," she told them wrapping her arms around each of the children individually. "You can all come south and visit Casterly Rock. I'd be more than happy to see you all again."
"Are there lions?" Eddard's eyes widened with excitement.
"Yes," Josslyn whispered and the children all drew near. "But they eat children." All the little ones laughed and told her she was kidding, before returning to their parents, already begging to visit her. She could see Bran among his siblings, just watching her with his dark eyes, but she wouldn't look at him.
"You shouldn't leave yet," Arya suddenly very serious, her grey eyes on the equally grey sky.
"A storm's coming," Sandor nodded, rubbing his shoulder. Josslyn turned her eyes to the sky and saw that indeed a light snow had begun to fall. And I used to love the snow so much, she thought bitterly. Now it will only be another reminder of him.
"I fear, my lord," she said evenly, "That I have over stayed my welcome." She couldn't avoid it any more, she turned to Bran, curtseying politely. "Lord Stark, thank you for your hospitality." She refused to look him directly in the eye, Josslyn didn't think she was strong enough for that. She waited for a moment, but Bran said nothing. Josslyn climbed into Fog's saddle, who was already pawing the ground anxiously and put her heals to him, and galloped out of Winterfell.
They rode all day, making it to a small inn before dark. The accommodations were no where near the level of Winterfell, but Josslyn didn't even notice them. She'd hardly looked around on the ride, didn't take in any scenery, didn't look with wonder as she had on every ride she'd taken since she'd been here, or even with the unrestrained joy of her trip North, she just stared at her horses hooves as they kicked up snow on her trip home. She had decided that Casterly Rock was the best place for her to go. Her mother would help heal her heart, she'd understand her pain.
Early the next morning they were on their way again. Fog was anxious, he was skirting sideways with nearly every step, pawing at the ground every time they stopped to rest, and even Josslyn couldn't keep him in check. She looked at the darkening sky and noticed that it had gotten colder, and the snow was falling harder now.
"Perhaps we should turn back to the inn," her Capitan said as he pulled his roan along side her, watching her with heavy eyes. But before she could agree or disagree, she heard the thundering of hooves signaling the approach of several riders. The King's Road in front of her was empty, and she craned around in her saddle to look behind them, but it too was vacant of any riders. Suddenly she remembered.
"Ghost Raiders," she cried. The captain drew his sword and smacked Fog on his hind quarters sending the horse flying down the road. Two of her garrison followed her, swords drawn riding hard beside her. The wind blew the snow hard into her face, as she rode. She could hear the clang of swords behind her, and prayed that her men would be alright, but knew the odds. If Bran's reports were accurate, then they out numbered her own men three to one.
Ahead of her, three riders came from nowhere, dark scarves tied around their faces. Josslyn wheeled Fog to the left, flying through the tall grasses to the west of the road. Another small group of men were waiting for her, she yanked on Fog's reins, wheeling him back the way she'd come, but found that she'd been surrounded, the men behind her blades gleaming in fresh blood. She reached for her knives, but felt the caress of wet steel under her chin.
"We'll have none of that little Lannister bitch," a gruff voice barked. She stared at the blue eyes before her, being able to see nothing over his tight scarf, and she saw all that she needed to know in the blue orbs. He would happily kill her, but thought that she was worth a pretty penny. "Get off the horse, girl."
As calmly as she could she dismounted from Fog and stood up strait, not fearing to look any of them in the eyes. She knew that any sort of weakness could mean torture or rape. A man began to check her for weapons, much to her dismay, and found the pair of wickedly sharp knives that she had strapped to her hips. He shoved his hands down the front of her dress, under the pretense of looking for more knives. Josslyn stood unflinching, but was screaming in her mind at the violation. But when his hands began to slide up her legs and cup her sex, it was too much to bear. Quick as a flash she pulled the mans own long dagger from his belt and thrust it in to his lung, knowing that his death would be slow and suffocating.
A hand sharply collided with her cheek, breaking the skin of her lip, and a trickle of blood began to fall to her chin. Two Raiders grabbed her arms, and before she could put up much fight Josslyn was forced to the ground, her arms pulled behind her painfully straining from their sockets. She winched, but never cried out, she would never give them the pleasure. Instead she took a mental inventory of her weapons. Her daggers on Fog's saddle had been taken, the ones on her hip, and the one in her thick leather riding boot, but they had missed the cleverly concealed thin knife in her hair, thinking it nothing more than a silver hair pin.
Bide your time, Joss, she warned herself. She felt a sharp kick to her ribs and bit her already bruised lip to keep from crying. When the pain had subsided she glanced at the man who was gasping for breath on the ground and had to force herself to keep a smile off her face.
"She killed Gavin," one of the men snarled.
"Not yet," the man with the blue eyes said with some amusement. "The bitch has claws. Don't touch her unless you no longer value your life." The blue eyed man climbed off his horse and with quick practiced movements, cut the dying man's throat. Josslyn was pulled up by her arms and the blue eyed man simply stared, "If you were so valuable, I'd kill you now," he snarled.
A strong arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her into a saddle, another man tied one foot with a long rope, the other end, tied to the pummel of a saddle.
"Clever," she said with as much distain as she dared. "If I try to escape I'll be dragged behind a horse before I could get my feet under me." A sharp slap collided with her cheek, a bruise forming instantly and she glared at the offender. He was the one with the blue eyes, the one with the blood soaked sword.
"Speak again and I'll run you through," he snarled. Josslyn made a show of rolling her eyes, but said nothing. She knew it would be a horrible idea to aggravate them, as much joy as it would have brought her in what she assumed would be her final hours. The Ghost Raiders rode hard, down the hills and into a small unassuming valley. Josslyn looked around for any sign of a camp, but found nothing. Her fingers appeared to work nervously at the sleeves of her gown, but she tore at the threads and silk with a purpose. Small swatches of sapphire blue cloth littered the path down which she rode.
Part of her felt like this was futile, Bran had turned her away, sent her packing from Winterfell like they'd meant nothing to each other. But another part of her, a much smaller part, knew that he would find her, but the storm was getting fiercer and even if he did follow her she knew it was unlikely that he'd ever find her trail in the fresh blanket of snow.
As they neared the end of the valley, she saw a large wall of brambles, but nothing else as her captors pulled their horses to a stop. The veil of brambles was moved aside by someone she couldn't see and the Ghost Raiders spurred their horses forward. She heard a loud whinny and a grunt, and looked over just in time to see Fog, pulling free of the man who lead him along, racing back the way he had come.
"Let the horse go," a voice from behind the curtain of brambles called. And Josslyn's head spun back around to see who had given the order. A tall thin man stood their as if he was a lord greeting a visitor. "Good, you found the little lion bitch," he sneered at Josslyn, his eyes betraying a bit of lust. She could see that he wore battered and worn, leather armor and instantly she knew him to be a sell sword.
"Caught her little more than a day from Winterfell," the blue eyed man barked. "Her garrison is dead so there shouldn't be anyone to alert that she's been taken.
"Where's Gavin?" the man in the leather armor asked.
"The bitch killed him," the blue eyed man pushed her from the horse and Josslyn landed hard on the cold snow covered ground. "He was having a bit of fun and she had a knife." The man in the leather armor began to walk closer to her and she dared not do anything, but stare defiantly in his cold, nearly black eyes. He smirked in response to her glare, and simply grabbed her by the hair, dragging her into the cave that was hidden behind the brambles.
"Don't go killing anymore of my men," he said as he drug her, trying to force her to cry out.
"Keep your men from harming me and I won't have to," Josslyn sneered, happy that her trained voice held none of her fear. Without any more words, he flung her against the wall, near hard enough to break a limb, and tied her foot to a metal stake in the ground. The men went about making camp, watering the horses, making a meal. No one spoke to her, no one offered her food or drink, and Josslyn was almost thankful for that as she huddled shivering against the cold under her cloak. She was terrified, though she thought she did well of feigning discontented distain. She was afraid that she throw up anything they gave her. After a while the men banked the fire and settled down to sleep. She fought it for hours, pinching herself hard enough to bruise beneath her cloak to keep from falling under the spell of sleep, but eventually she succumbed, alone, battered and terrified under her heavy cloak.
~x~
The day she left Winterfell had nearly killed him. Bran watched as she climbed into her saddle, looking at him, without looking at him. He wondered how she did it, to seem so gathered and confident when all he felt inside was hollow.
When she had slammed the door behind her, Bran had to fight the instinct to go to her. His hands shook hard as he brought them up to touch the spot where only moments before she had caressed with the most incredible of kisses. He sat there for hours, replaying everything in his mind, It's for the best, he kept telling himself. It was your decision.
Arya came bursting in through the door suddenly, leaping at her brother with surprising speed. "What did you do to Josslyn?" her hands grasping at the collar of his shirt.
"Don't say her name," Bran shouted as her wrenched his sister's hands from his shirt with a strength that surprised even him.
"Josslyn," Arya goaded, and Bran flinched at the name. Arya strung a line of curses that would have made Sandor blush and sat herself on the edge of the bed. "What happened?" Bran took a deep breath and told her, leaving out only the intimate kisses that he had shared with her. When he had finished his tale, Bran watched the emotions flicker over his sisters face. Arya had never been able to hide what she was thinking, least of all from him. "So," Arya said after a while. "You'd forsake your own happiness for some half cocked idea that you are not good enough for her?"
"Many Lords live their whole lives with no happiness," His gaze flickered to the window and he head his sister growl, "Summer came to get me. He dragged me by the shirt sleeve back to her room, where Sansa was alrfeady knocking trying to get her to talk. Joss…She'd bolted the door from the inside and wouldn't speak to anyone. Sandor kicked down the door, and do you know what we saw?" Arya paused her, clearly trying to elicit some response, but Bran remained gazing out the window, as if the moonless sky held something of interest. "She was lying on the floor, the only reason we knew she was alive was because she was sobbing."
"She won't talk to Sansa, she won't look at Summer, the only thing she said was "Stupid Wolf," Arya shook her head, but Bran still refused to look at her.
"Why do you tell me this?" he asked finally, surprised by the cold steely sound to his voice. "It's done. She'll be leaving." He felt the sting of the slap on his face before he heard the sound, Arya standing over him.
"You are cold, Brandon Stark," she whispered. "So much colder than our dead father's tomb," and she breezed out of the door, slamming it behind her. In truth, Arya's words hurt worse than her slap.
The next morning, he watched her. She seemed so poised, so calm, but he knew she wasn't. Her eyes were red rimmed and glazed over. She said her goodbyes with nothing but the courtesy that he's come to expect from her, but when she looked at him, the hollow spot in his chest grew even larger. She thought he couldn't see it, she thought she was hiding it, but he could see the sadness, the tears that crept into her eyes, but she had managed to put her heals to Fog and she galloped away.
Bran couldn't remember the rest of the day, only small snippets. Screaming at a servant, shooing Summer away as the wolf followed him, whimpering. He knew he hadn't eaten, but he wasn't hungry. Somehow at dusk he found herself in her room. He stared at her bed, wondering if it still smelled like her, when he heard footsteps behind him.
"So you're really letting her go then?" Gendry said behind him.
"She deserves more," Bran choked out finally.
"So does your sister," Gendry said firmly. Bran spun his chair around to find Gendry leaning against the shattered door, that would need to be replaced.
"What do you mean?" Bran glared at his brother in law.
"Arya deserves more than a bastard," Gendry shrugged. "She's a proper born lady, though she don't act like one, and I'm nothing more than a baseborn bastard of a king." Bran opened his mouth to protest, but Gendry raised a large hand to stop him. "No one knows how you feel better that I do Bran," his bright blue Baratheon eyes boring into his. "But you're a damned fool. We can't go though life alone, try as we might, we'll fail without those who love us, however strange it may seem to the world outside. Even if it is a bastard and a lady, a Hound and a Little Bird, a child of the desert and a child of snow or even cripple and a Lannister." Gendry just gave Bran another sharp look and left without another word.
That night, Bran couldn't sleep. He sent to Tommen for a sleeping draft, and nearly as soon as his eyes closed, the dreams began. She stole into his room, and he made love to her. Sated for the first time since the dreams began, she curled into his side, one leg thrown over his, and whispered "Don't make me go Bran, please." Suddenly she stood before him, in that alluring blue gown, and with tears in her eyes turned and walked away from him. He rose to follow her, even the sensation of walking in dreams was odd to him. He followed her to the courtyard, and saw that she was no longer her, but a lion. The lion turned to him with her sad green eyes, and padded out the gates of Winterfell.
Bran watched her go, and screamed when he saw ropes come from nowhere and wrap around his lioness, who fought at every turn. She roared mournfully but finally she was brought down, and a line of shimmering horse bound figures came from out of the fog, closing in on her. Bran woke with a scream, and pulled himself into his chair, speeding down the dark deserted halls of Winterfell, to his find his captain at arms. He sent men to follow her, and sat waiting in the snow of the courtyard until well into the afternoon, awaiting some word, but he knew what had happened to her.
How could I have been so stupid? he thought over and over again. His siblings held his vigil, watching from the corner of their eyes, waiting for him to say something. He didn't care that his strange behavior would only fuel the rumors of the green sighted warg, Lord of Winterfell. It was nearing dark when Fog came galloping back, rider less, and he ordered the grey to be fitted with his own saddle.
"But milord," the stable master protested. "This fool hearty horse has not been properly trained, it's a wonder that the lady was even able to ride him," Bran silenced him with a hand. Gendry, Rickon and Sandor ordered their horses as well, and accompanied by two dozen men, Bran joined his mind with Fog's and rode of south east, to the valley he could see so clearly in the horses mind.
So I feel a double update coming today…possibly. I'm a few chapters a head and just going back through and tweaking and editing. I'm having so much fun with this story that I just can't wait to put the next few chapters up so that you all can read it!