Jeyne Snow 288 AC
The cold morning air bit at Jeyne's cheeks as she emerged from the woods, her breath misting in the sharp chill of the Northern dawn. The faint crunch of snow under her boots mixed with the soft rustle of trees swaying in the breeze. Slung over her shoulder were three hares, their limp bodies tied together with sturdy rope, the fruits of her early hunt. The sight filled her with satisfaction—another day's meal secured for her family.
Her attire much like a hunter of Deepwood Motte, where practicality trumped vanity. She wore a weathered set of leather armor, each piece tailored to her frame and reinforced for protection. The supple leather, cured and treated to withstand the elements, bore faint scratches and scuffs, marks of countless hunts and encounters in the wilderness. Over the armor, thick furs lined her shoulders and cuffs, providing vital warmth against the biting cold. Her cloak, fashioned from dark brown wolf pelts, hung heavy but snug around her, its edges slightly frayed from years of use.
Her boots, sturdy and worn, were laced tightly up to her calves, their soles designed to grip the uneven, icy terrain of the North. A fur-lined hood framed her face, though it had slipped back to reveal her dark hair, damp from exertion and clinging to her temples. A simple yet functional belt cinched at her waist held a small hunting knife in its sheath, a tool as vital as her bow and quiver slung across her back.
As she approached the house, her practiced hands lowered the hares onto a blanket of snow in the wheelbarrow she kept by the door. The wheelbarrow itself was patched and weathered, but like her clothing.
Jeyne paused for a moment, rolling her stiff shoulders beneath the weight of her layered clothing. The leather and fur ensemble, though bulky, allowed her freedom of movement, an essential quality for navigating the forest with precision. She brushed a hand against her tunic to clear away stray snowflakes, her fingers momentarily catching on a small tear near her sleeve—a reminder to mend it later, perhaps by the fire after the day's work was done.
A familiar sound drew her attention—laughter and bickering, carrying through the stillness of the morning. Jeyne turned to see Mikken and Cregan emerging from the woods. Mikken's large frame was unmistakable, a large basket of firewood slung over his shoulder, an axe gripped casually in his free hand. Beside him, Cregan marched with determined steps, clutching a small log in both hands. His face was a mask of concentration, though the log looked like it weighed nearly as much as he did.
Her heart melted seeing her son. Cregan had grown into a lively boy at six of age, his boundless energy often outpacing his large frame. Though he was taller than most boys his age, his wiry build and quick movements spoke of a child used to the rigors of Northern life. His thick, dark brown hair had grown longer, often falling into his dark, curious eyes. There was a stubborn set to his jaw that reminded Jeyne of his father, though his mischievous grin that was entirely his own. He had a knack for asking too many questions and an endless curiosity about the world around him—a mix of innocence and determination that both exasperated and filled her with pride.
"How are my boys this morning?" Jeyne called out, a smile tugging at her lips.
Mikken smirked as he dropped the basket near the house's entrance, pausing to wipe the sweat from his brow despite the chill. "Watching this one run about the woods is more tiring than swinging this axe," he replied, jerking his thumb toward Cregan. "He learns well, though, even if a small bird is all it takes to distract his young mind."
Cregan's head shot up, his face scrunched in indignation. "Hey, I wasn't disticted!" he yelled, dropping the log unceremoniously onto the ground. "I cut this all myself Mikken did nothing!"
Jeyne rolled her eyes, her lips twitching with amusement at her son trying to say larger words as Mikken burst into laughter. She squatted down to Cregan's level, her gaze stern but soft. "Cregan, what did I tell you about lying?" she chided gently. Licking her thumb, she reached out to rub a smudge of soot from his cheek.
The boy squirmed but didn't pull away. "I... sorry, Mother," he mumbled, his gaze dropping to the ground.
Jeyne's expression softened, and she placed a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, you did well, my son. You did well," she said, her voice warm. "But the day is far from over. I spoke with Adela down the road. She needs help on the farm—chasing away the crows and feeding her chickens. I told her you'd be able to help this morning."
Cregan groaned, his small shoulders slumping in protest, but the stern look of his mother gave him had him gulping and nodding quickly. "Yes, Mother. I help her now!" he said, his words spilling out in a rush. Without waiting for a reply, he turned and bolted down the road, his boots kicking up puffs of snow as he ran toward the farms.
Jeyne watched him go, shaking her head fondly. "That boy has too much energy," she murmured.
Mikken chuckled, leaning casually against the doorway. "I like how but a look from you sends him running. I ask him to do anything, and it's all excuses."
Jeyne turned her gaze on Mikken, leveling the same sharp look she had given Cregan. The effect was immediate—Mikken straightened, his grin faltering for a moment before he laughed again.
"Alright, alright. I see how it works," he said, hoisting the basket of firewood back onto his shoulder. "I'll get this inside."
Jeyne allowed herself a small smile as she watched him disappear through the door. She glanced back toward the road, where Cregan's figure was quickly shrinking into the distance, and let out a soft sigh. The boy was growing fast—too fast, it felt. Yet, she couldn't deny the pride that swelled in her chest as she thought of his boundless energy and determination.
Jeyne went back to her work as she worked swiftly, her hands steady and practiced as she cleaned the hares. The meat was cut with precision, each slice carefully set aside, while the furs were preserved for later trade. Once the task was done, she carried the meat around the back of the house, where an old wooden icebox stood in the shade. She layered the chest with thick snow, packing it tightly around the fresh meat to keep it cold. It was a simple method, but one that had served her well over the years.
Satisfied, she wiped her hands off in the snow and set off toward the town. The morning sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the snow-dappled road. Up ahead, she noticed a familiar figure, her friend Gillis, making her way toward the market. Jeyne waved, a small smile tugging at her lips as she quickened her pace to catch up.
Gillis turned at the sound of her name, her face lighting up. She ran over, her ample cleavage bouncing with each step, her blonde hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders. Despite her profession as a tavern whore, Gillis carried herself with a cheerful air, her demeanor warm and unassuming. She was one of the few people who had grown up alongside Jeyne.
"Oh, Jeyne, darling, well met this morning!" Gillis greeted, her smile bright. "I was just heading to the inn to help set up. How are you? How are the lads? You look well."
Jeyne returned the smile, her thoughts drifting briefly to her morning. "I'm well, thank you. The boys are keeping busy, as usual. Cregan's helping out at the farms this morning, and later, I'll be taking him hunting. As for Mikken, he's been spending a lot of time at the yard working on some wooden project. He hasn't told me what it is yet, but I'm sure he'll spring it on me soon enough."
Gillis chuckled, her laugh light and melodic. "It's good to hear they're both doing well. And Cregan—he's growing into a proper little man, isn't he? You'll have your hands full with that one soon enough, I imagine."
Jeyne smirked, thinking of her son. "I already do."
Gillis waved a hand dismissively, her grin widening. "Oh, you'll manage. You always do. Anyway, as much as I'd love to chat more, I need to get inside and start the day. But if you're ever free one evening, come by the tavern. It's been too long since we've had a proper catch-up."
Jeyne nodded, her smile warm. "Of course, Gillis. If I have the time, I'll stop by. Take care."
"You too, darling!" Gillis called, waving as she hurried off toward the tavern.
Jeyne spent the late morning at the market, the familiar hum of activity surrounding her as she sold the furs from her hunt. The coins exchanged were modest but fair, enough to barter for the essentials she needed. She lingered among the stalls, mingling with the other workers and traders, her sharp eye picking out good deals. Her furs earned her some simple salts and spices, a few root vegetables, and even a small bundle of dried herbs.
By the time she returned home, the sun hung high in the sky, its pale winter light streaming through the trees. The house was quiet when she arrived, and for a moment, she welcomed the solitude. She unpacked her purchases, sorting the items neatly into their places, and set about tidying the home.
The afternoon passed in relative calm until the sound of the door creaking open broke the silence. Jeyne turned in her chair just as Cregan burst into the room, covered in dirt from head to toe and clutching a basket with both hands. His face was smeared with mud, his wild hair sticking out in every direction, but his grin was wide and triumphant.
"How was your day, Cregan?" Jeyne asked, leaning back in her chair as she savored the rare moment of rest she knew she was about to lose.
"Fun!" Cregan shouted, bouncing on his toes. "The chickens got loose, and we had to chase 'em! But that scared all the crows away, so I didn't have to shoo them! And guess what? Adela gave me six eggs 'cause I caught six chickens!" He held up the basket with a big grin, the eggs inside rattling as he beamed with pride.
Jeyne chuckled, shaking her head in amusement. "Well done, my little hunter," she said, reaching over to steady the basket. "But you could do with a good rinse before you come hunting this afternoon. What do you say?"
Cregan's face lit up, his dirt-smudged features glowing with excitement. "Yes!" he exclaimed, the word bursting from him like a shout.
Jeyne smiled, rising from her chair and taking the basket from his hands. She placed it gently on the table, then reached out to tousle his messy hair. "Come, Cregan. Let's head down to the stream and clean you up. Then I'll take you hunting."
As they left the house, Jeyne's thoughts turned to the afternoon ahead. She didn't plan to take him deep into the woods—he was still too young for the true wilds—but the outskirts would suffice. It would be enough to let him feel the thrill of the hunt while keeping him safe, a delicate balance she had learned to strike in her years as a hunter and mother.
Cregan bounded ahead of her as they walked, his small frame bursting with energy despite the morning's work. Jeyne couldn't help but marvel at how quickly he was growing, his adventurous spirit shining brighter with each passing day. She followed with a quiet smile, the warmth of pride and love carrying her forward.
As they reached the gentle embankment near the outskirts of the woods, the sound of rushing water filled the air. The river wasn't large or treacherous—its width shallow enough for horses to cross without difficulty—but it flowed briskly, its surface shimmering in the pale light. Cregan, with his boundless energy, wasted no time undressing. He stripped down to his skin and leapt into the river with a splash, his laughter ringing out as he hit the frigid water.
Jeyne stood nearby, her arms crossed against the cold, watching with a mix of curiosity and fondness. The icy chill of the water didn't seem to bother her boy in the slightest. He relished every chance he got to swim, no matter the conditions. She bent down and gathered his small fur-lined clothes, the ones she had painstakingly crafted herself from the pelts of her previous hunts. Buying him clothes was out of the question—he grew too quickly for such indulgences—but the furs, stitched together with care, were durable and warm, as she began to scrub them in the water.
Her gaze drifted back to Cregan as he played in the water, splashing and pretending to be whatever his mind comes up with. "Yeah, take that, southern!" he shouted, throwing a pretend punch at his own reflection before diving under the surface. He emerged with a triumphant grin, shaking water from his hair like a wild pup. Jeyne couldn't help but smile, but it was tinged with sadness.
It had been some time since Cregan had asked the question she dreaded most. He had grown curious, as children do, and asked why he didn't have a father. At first, he had thought it was Mikken, and she could have let him believe that, but lying outright wasn't something she could bring herself to do. Instead, she told him the version of the truth she thought best: his father had died in the South during the war. It wasn't a lie, not entirely—Brandon's death had rallied the North to Robert's cause, sparking a rebellion that changed everything. It was a story that made sense, one that the smallfolk could believe.
Cregan had taken the news well, or so it seemed. He hadn't cried or questioned her further. Instead, his fascination with his absent father grew, and with it, a hunger for stories of war and valor. She had spoken of Brandon's name—a common one in the North—but she never elaborated beyond what was necessary. Yet, as she watched Cregan now, punching at the water with a feral grin on his face, she wondered if the wolves' blood in him had stirred. His smirk carried a wildness that seemed too raw, too primal, for a child. It unsettled her, and yet it reminded her so much of his father.
Jeyne crouched by the riverbank, her fingers brushing over the cleaner furs of Cregan's discarded clothes. She thought of the life she wanted for him—a life far removed from battlefields and bloodshed. She had no doubt he would grow into a strong and capable man, but her hope was for a simpler life, one where his heritage didn't place him in peril.
"Cregan," she called gently, her voice cutting through the boy's imaginary battle. "It's time to get out. We need to get you dressed and ready for the hunt."
Cregan turned to her with that beautiful smile of his, the one that melted her heart every time. "Okay!" he called back, climbing out of the water with all the enthusiasm of a boy who knew another adventure awaited him.
She wrapped him in a dry tunic and breeches, another set of sturdy fur-lined clothes she had brought along. As she worked, her hands moving with maternal care, she leaned down and kissed his damp forehead. "I love you, Cregan," she whispered, the words filled with all the weight of her hopes and fears for him.
He grinned up at her as Jeyne straightened, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face as she adjusted the bow slung over her shoulder. "Alright, ready to do this?"
"Yeah!" Cregan replied, his youthful exuberance lighting up his face as he grabbed his small wooden practice bow.
Jeyne chuckled softly. Taking his hand, she led him further into the woods, her thoughts a mix of pride and apprehension as the thrill of the hunt beckoned them both.
I hope you're all still enjoying this. This is my first time writing a story like this, and I hope I do it justice. This is, of course, a A Song of Ice and Fire story, so expect the unexpected in the future. Until then, have a good day!
