Marina's green eyes filled with tears as the truth picked apart her mentality, shattering the very beliefs she thought she understood. It had been them all along, everything that has lead to this moment was planned. Every word that slivered past the...
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A FEELING OF PANIC WASHED OVER HIM.
Jon Snow had only felt this whenever he was in battle, fighting for his life and for others. He could remember Robb saying that he always looked frightened whenever they practiced their swords. His dark brown eyes were always dilated and frantically scanning the area, even when he wasn't in danger.
It wasn't something Jon had always done. Panicking that is. As a child he was often purposely ignored by his family and all of the other kids in Winterfell. Robb had no choice but to pretend to not know him whenever his mother was around. She made it clear that Jon was less than the Starks, a bastard born till the end of his days. That same notion rolled over the castle grounds, and a few highborn kids took it upon themselves to "remind" him of his worth— as if Lady Stark would let him forget. They'd wait until he was alone, cornered and afraid, then they would pounce like wolves.
Marina rolled her tired shoulders, cracking her neck as she walked down the corridor. The day had been long and grueling. Lady Catelyn had been nothing but cruel with her chores for the sorceress, leaving her with no time for the Stark children or a meal. She had just put Arya to bed, who was a bit fussy after a long day without a nap.
The sorceress's fingers had just wrapped around the handle of the door before she heard quiet sniffling. Within seconds, she pushed into her room, closing the door behind herself and looking around. The fire crackled, filling the small space with a woodsy smell, an almost nostalgic smell that relaxed her. The sharp wind blew outside, rattling the wooden doors that closed kept the cold from covering the room in its cold hands. Her eyes settled on her bed, specifically the small bundle nestled under her blankets.
The mop of curly brown hair was a dead give away. "Jon?"
The young boy looked over the thick quilt with a swollen black eye and a busted lip. His nose is crooked and split open with a trail of dried blood. His face is puffy from crying, but he looks relieved.
"Jon, who did this?" Marina asks, coming to stand next to the bed and inspect his face.
"It doesn't matter" Jon says, moving his head away from her grasp. He knows if he gives a name then she'd take it upon herself to "investigate."
"It does matter! It's not okay for them to do this to you."
"Please, just leave it alone. Please? It's not worth it."
Marina's face softened as she moved to sit beside him. He continued to sniffle, wincing whenever he did so thanks to his broken nose. He'd never understand.
"What happened? Last time I saw you you were with Robb."
"We were practicing with our swords when Lady Stark called Robb back. I didn't have a chance to turn around before they..."
