wear it like armor [open]

[tooktheblack]

WHO: Jon Snow
WHERE: woods; House 25; weirwood (locked to Starks only)
WHEN: 18 August (plague prompt); early September
OPEN TO: all; weirwood prompt locked to Starks only
WARNINGS: usual sad bastard warnings.

---

a. bring out your dead

It had only taken a few days after visiting his lord father for Jon to fall ill and he tried to ignore it and push past it as much as he could. He did what he could to keep going, to maintain his routine, but after three days he fell to the fever and the rash and took to his bed.

Jon couldn't ever remember being ill like this. Once, during the False Spring, he'd fallen ill with a flu that all the rest of the Starks had fallen ill with one after another in succession. While Sansa and Robb had the touch of Catelyn Stark to soothe them when they thrashed in the sheets, Jon only had broth from Old Nan and the fevered dreams of a boy who wanted his mother more than anything. He wanted his mother to put cool cloths against his forehead and to brush his hair back from his brow.

His mother never came.

Now, as a man grown, he wouldn't do anything so weak as beg for his mother but he did, in passing, wish to be put out of his misery a handful of times. He hoped that none of his other siblings had fallen ill with this and that only he and Father had gotten it. Perhaps the girls and Robb had been spared and Jon would be better in a few days. Didn't it pass? All things passed in time.

So, for the first time since that illness as a boy, Jon Snow took to his bed and didn't rise for a week.

b. but i'm feeling better!

After laying in bed for a week and a half, Jon finally felt well enough to venture out into the woods. His traps were all a loss, considering they hadn't been checked while he was ill and he spent a few hours redoing the lot of them. It was tedious work, yes, but he was just glad to be out of his bed and moving around again. He hadn't been the best patient while he'd been ill and he'd been really glad to be out of the house; he had the idea that he'd spend the whole day out of doors if the women in his life would let him.

Once he'd reset all of his traps, he took one of the bows to actually hunt, feet silent against the leaves. It was times like these that he missed Ygritte. For all that he was good with a bow, she was better, and she could shoot further and cleaner than he ever would. Still, he had a duty to feed those in the village and he wouldn't manage that if he was lost in a dream of days past. Seeing a rustle out of the corner of his eye, he nocked an arrow and let it loose, pleased when it struck a grouse. It'd make a fine dinner for someone, whether it was his family or up at the Inn.

c. you have found...the shrubbery!

The weirwood was still a tiny thing but even as a sapling, Jon knew what it meant. He occasionally said prayers in front of a heart tree for his family who hadn't come here to this village - for Bran, for Rickon whom he knew was dead and gone. He said them for Catelyn Stark, that his siblings might have their mother again. He said them for Ygritte, for the brothers he'd lost at the Wall and the brothers who had betrayed them. It was a time to think and reflect, to remember the Old Gods and the First Men and how they'd given rise to the man he was today.

It seemed so far away from him now, the snows of the North and the battle that they had yet to fight. There was a war to wage against the dead and yet he was here in a place that was summer-green, a place that winter lasted only a few turns of the moon before it became spring and then autumn. It seemed like madness that seasons would last only a few moons' turn but he guessed for those not from Westeros, the opposite must seem true.

He knelt for what felt like an eternity, his lips moving without sound escaping as he gave his prayers to this fledgling tree in hopes that House Stark would take root here in this village and be strong once again.

Comments

c

[turned_to_steel]

Sansa hadn't told the others but she had stopped praying to the Gods a long time ago. That said, she didn't hate the idea of having the weirwood again because she knew it would be good for her family. It seemed to be good for Jon since she found him there, praying silently to himself and to whatever God might be listening in this place. Standing off to the side, she watched him and wished that she could find comfort in such an action again but she felt no pull to do so.

She merely waited until he was finished with his prayers and moving to his feet before she joined him at his side. She had kept a close eye on him during his illness and she looked concerned even now despite knowing he was better.

"How are you feeling?" She asked softly, tilting her head to the side as she studied him.

[tooktheblack]

"Better than I was," Jon said. It wasn't completely better, no, but he felt well enough to be up and out of his bed and he was glad for it. He had never really been felled by illness other than one time in his memory and any other times he'd been confined to a bed had been due to injury; Jon had his fair share of scars from those.

"There's just something pathetic about being unable to get out of your own bed," he said, laughing softly. "I'm just glad to be able to stretch my legs without having someone hound me about it."

b.

[scepterschild]

Wanda had gone out to gather fallen sticks and twigs for kindling. They always needed it in the kitchen during meal times and it was a thoughtless task that she could perform while letting her mind wander. She felt the days becoming shorter, the air becoming a little colder. It was a pleasant change though Wanda continued to wear her hair up accompanied by a tank top and a pair of jean shorts.

It was during her second trip out into the forest when she heard the soft rustle of footsteps and then the familiar release of a bow. She always thought about Clint when she heard the familiar sound though she knew that many hunted in the woods. She stepped towards the sound, a small collection of brown thin limbs beneath one arm.

Wanda was surprised to see Jon. She usually saw him at the inn since they both took the time to help preserve the meats but she hadn't seen him for the last week or so. She had guessed that he had vanished but hadn't wanted to go to the Stark's residence to ask.

"You look like you're doing better." She knew that some people had gotten sick like Baze and assumed that something similar happened to Jon. "Are you alright? It's been some time." They never spent a lot of time talking but Jon was one of those people that Wanda was comfortable working around, even if they mostly worked in silence.

[tooktheblack]

"Aye, I am better," Jon said, giving Wanda a warm smile. It had been a while since he'd been out to check his traps and hunt and he was glad to have a chance to get back to his routine, such as it was. Routine helped him to pass the days and to mark time and the days he'd spent in bed had been a blur of illness and pain. He would be glad to have other ways of determining how much time had passed.

"You didn't get ill with it, did you? Most of my family managed to catch it. I think my lord father caught it first."

[scepterschild]

Wanda shook her head. "I rarely get sick." She grew up in cold weather without much of a home to keep her safe. She was resilient and while that didn't necessarily count for anything here, she was also stubborn. Wanda was entirely the type of person to push herself, even when she was sick.

"Is everyone healthy now?" She shifted the sticks beneath her arm before crouching down to gather more. Wanda had her routine's too and while they weren't always interesting, she'd agree that it was nice to have something to pass the time and mark the days when sleep didn't.

[tooktheblack]

"Everyone's better now," Jon confirmed. "My lord father fell ill with it first, then me. I think one of my sisters got it too. I'm just glad we're all up and around now - for a family who doesn't often take ill, we certainly got our fair share of it."

Jon could go his whole life without being ill like that again, without the hot flashes and the cold sweats.

"It seemed to have hit a lot of the village, though, all at once."

[scepterschild]

Wanda nodded her head. "It had spread after we found the lab." She didn't know if the two incidents were connected but the last time that people got sick it had been the fireflies. There was always a reason and while that reason might snake it's way back to the same source, she had no doubt that it was somehow connected.

"I don't know why it didn't affect everyone." Perhaps it had to do with the vials of blood or water those who didn't visit the new village. Wanda had searched for answers but she hadn't been able to find a common thread of similarity between the victims.

"Let me know if you need help with anything." In general, Jon was the sort of person that Wanda didn't know but he was easy to trust. He had his own way of living and code to follow.

C.

[the_scandal_of_italy]

She had worried for him while he was sick in bed, coming in on occasion to look after him. The woman he said was his aunt was often there, but when she needed sleep, Lucrezia took her place. It wasn't much of a surprise to see that, once he felt well enough, Jon would return to his usual activities and chores. She was concerned for him and said so on more than one occasion, but she doubted it would change very much. He was determined and it was something she admired in him.

Though something she never expected to see was faith. Next to some odd sprout, Jon knelt and seemed to whisper words of prayer. Never once in all of their talks had she asked him about his beliefs, knowing they would be different from her world. But his devotion was touching and inspiring. Carefully arranging her skirts, she knelt beside him, clasping her hands in prayer.

"May I join you?"

Re: C.

[tooktheblack]

"Of course," Jon said, flashing her a quick smile. He hadn't spoken much about the tradition of weirwoods in the north and while their weirwood here was small, it was still important for him to say his words to the Old Gods before it.

Perhaps it would have been easier to convert to the Faith of the Seven, to take one of the abandoned buildings and make it a Sept. He knew that Sansa knew something of it, since it was the religion her mother kept to, but Jon had never honored those ways. His were much older than a seven pointed star.

"It's a weirwood sapling," he explained. "My lord father planted it a moon or so ago."

[the_scandal_of_italy]

"It's beautiful." The pale bark and budding red leaves were unlike anything she had seen before. It was no wonder that Jon prayed before it. It had the look of a holy relic, something fashioned by God. "It is growing quickly." Which she imagined was a great comfort to him.

Her eyes trailed over to Jon, soft and warm as she regarded him. "You have color back in your cheeks. Though I still say you should rest and gather your strength." He had been in a poor state before. She had no desire to see him back in it again.

"Teach me to pray to your god. How do you go about it?"

[tooktheblack]

"We don't really pray very fancy, not like you'd pray to the Seven in a sept or anything," Jon said, suddenly a little shy about sharing this part of his life with someone who wasn't a Northerner. His family just knew about it but this was different.

"You speak your words plain, what you desire, and you hope the Old Gods see fit to grant it to you. I swear my oaths by the Old Gods, the one who made these trees, and their will is what I abide by."

[the_scandal_of_italy]

"What is it you pray for, Jon Snow?" She asked, turning away from the sapling to meet his gaze. She could remember praying for a husband that would love her and a marriage that would be as happy as in the stories, but neither came to be. Prayer sometimes felt like nothing more than a wish, but it seemed to give comfort to others and despite her doubts, she returned to it again and again.

"Then I will ask your gods to let you find some happiness here and that you do not become sick again."

A.

[iron_beneath_beauty]

He might not call out for his mother, but she was at his side, tending to him with as much maternal love as a woman twice her age. While she had wondered and worried over what sort a mother she would be, given the difference in their ages, it was easy to fall into the role the moment it was clear that he was sick. Worry hounded her, keeping her rooted at his bedside, not sleeping and only eating a little. She knew what mothers often wove and made, the charms that were hung over the child's bed. Having collected the branches and rope, she crafted the charm, creating several in the long hours that Jon slept.

When he managed to stir, she would help him drink and offered him broth. Yet his fever did not seem to lessen. He was the same as ever, the same that Ned was. It made her feel sick to consider losing the both of them.

The moment it seemed that he would wake again, Lyanna was quick to lift him and help him take a bit of water. "Drink slowly."

Re: A.

[tooktheblack]

"You shouldn't be here," Jon murmured in a rare moment of lucidity. He could make out Lyanna's dark hair and dark eyes and he blinked, trying to make certain she was real and not some falsehood. He'd never had memories of a mother and Lyanna was more of a friend than anything else but it seemed now, for the first time in his life, he had a mother to care for him.

"You'll take ill, Father had it too when I went to see him. I don't want you to get sick, Lyanna."

[iron_beneath_beauty]

No matter her age or how little a presence she had in his life, he was her son. She had carried him, nurtured him and spoken to him long before she birthed him. He had been her company, her hope and dreams. Her full heart was made up of him, the child she never had the chance to know but loved with everything in her. Even if he was a man now, it didn't change anything she felt.

If he was ill, she would spend every hour nursing him back. There had been too much loss in her life, too much sorrow and tragedy. Her son would not be a part of that. "Where else should I be?" She asked him softly, brushing his hair back. So fine and dark, just like her own. Gods, but he was beautiful. "I won't leave you."

She didn't fear illness or death. "I know." It pained her that she was only 'Lyanna'. Despite fearing the title 'mother', now she longed for it. "I won't get sick, Jon. I'm not leaving you."

[tooktheblack]

"I mean it, Lyanna. I don't want you to get this. It could take you from me," Jon said. He was weak with fever and sweat beaded on his forehead; he never wanted to be the cause of pain to his family and yet it seemed he was always, always causing pain to House Stark.

"I've only just gotten you. I can't lose you yet."

[iron_beneath_beauty]

Her fingers tightened around his hand as she stared at him with a wary gaze. These were words she wanted to hear, but feared might not be real. "I didn't know if you would want me. I know I'm younger than you. I want to be your mother. I don't want to be separated from you again."

She placed her hand against his cheek, his stubble scratched at her palm, a sharp reminder that the infant she carried was now a man. "I missed your life and seeing the man you would become. Let me at least take care of you and help you become strong again. Don't send me away."

c

[learned_to_die]

Ned's made a habit of going to check on the weirwood each morning after he wakes, and then each evening before he retires back to the family stead. He is generally delighted to see that Robb has kept his promise of fetching it water from the spring with regularity, and even though Ned had had some concerns, the small sapling seems to be taking root against all odds. It would take many years for it to spread and blossom into a mighty tree with a trunk as thick as four or more men, but all Ned is concerned with is giving it the best fighting chance of making it to that stage.

On his way towards the woods and the river's edge, he sees a figure kneeling at the tiny sapling, and it takes him a moment to realize that it is Jon. He would be lying if he did not admit that seeing him, still keeping the faith of the Old Gods and their home in the North did not swell his chest with pride and affection. He doesn't wish to interrupt his quiet meditation, though he eventually does approach, kneeling about a meter to Jon's right.

There's no need to say anything, at least not right away; they each understand the respect and importance of silence in times of contemplation and reflection.

Re: c

[tooktheblack]

When Jon finished his words to the Old Gods, he turned his head and acknowledged Ned kneeling there. He would always think of him as his lord father, no matter that a Targaryen prince had done the deed, and he hoped that Ned would always see him as a son. So far, it seemed that way.

"You look well, Father. I'd hoped the illness hadn't left you weak. Took me a while to get up from it."

[learned_to_die]

"I will recover, in time," Ned replies, not wanting to worry Jon about his current state. Truth was that the sickness had weakened Ned quite a bit, more than he'd anticipated, and he found himself slowed and clumsy because of it. There was a patchwork of still-healing blisters and scarring left behind in the fever's wake, though he was able to hide the majority of it underneath his clothing. Like a hand reaching up from the darkness, however, there was still a patch of raw redness curling around his neck, the way there might be after having been strangled.

But none of these were things with which to burden Jon, and it did well to hear him cling to the use of the word 'father' in his acknowledgment. It steeled Ned's heart and spirit in a way he couldn't quite verbalize.

"I had come by to see you," he reflects quietly, "As often as I could manage. I fear it was your concern for me that had brought the illness upon you."

b

[elderflowermacarons]

Taako's not a hunter, but he's a fair fisherman. He can appreciate both skills from the cooking side of things, but the former is just too squishy and hands-on for him, while fishing more or less feels like problem solving. The only thing separating it from magic is a string takes the place of arcane energies. He has a couple of handsome trout with him as he starts on the winding path and while lost in thought, is good enough at this outdoorsy nonsense to go along quietly and efficiently.

He doesn't recognize the stranger he happens upon, but he doesn't know most of these people yet, whatever. He's frankly more interested in the bird situation, but he takes a stab at being reasonably polite. "Hail and well met and shit." He has to tip his head back a bit even from a distance--Jon's got nearly a foot on him--and the tilt sends his three-foot-long braid swinging. That's as much preamble as he's up to. "There a lot of eating on that, or is it an all-feathers, gamey kinda situation?"

Re: b

[tooktheblack]

"Good eating," Jon said, showing him the grouse. "The breast is pretty large on this one, more than one person ought to be able to eat off it." The way the man had greeted him reminded him, pleasantly, of Tormund or one of the other Wildlings.

"Hail and well met to you, too. I'm Jon. Haven't seen you before."

[elderflowermacarons]

If there's one thing he has to credit Mags for it's that go-to opener. Everyone eats that shit up. And in this case it's even paying off in potential food dividends, because eventually he's gonna get tired of fish, especially with the flavor profiles the local forage is capable of supporting.

"Taako, still pretty new, gettin' the hang of creepy prison forest, you prolly know how it is." Meandering and flighty as that was, it's pretty courteous for him. He remembered to introduce himself. "So these little guys are worth it? Gotta keep that in mind." Fuck, when did he last prep a whole bird without magic to help? Not fun. But maybe worth it.

[tooktheblack]

"When you can't get a deer, yes," Jon pointed out. The frantic, frenetic way this man talked was a bit much for him but he seemed kind enough and Jon wasn't the sort to turn someone away simply because he was different. One of his closest friends, Sam Tarly, had been very different than anyone else he'd known.

"Several of these could feed a large family."

[elderflowermacarons]

"I mean, if you wanna make a whole production, sure, go the venison route." Taako's quite adept at making bits and pieces go a long way, little as he likes to cop to it nowadays. He was a shabby caravan's grub slinger much longer than he was a four-star chef. "Nothing wrong with stewing up some stringy little game birds if needs must, y'know? Just like knowing what I'd be getting into."