You've been wild Rose!

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Native of the Northlands          𓆝         Jacaerys Velaryon

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.

Native of the Northlands          𓆝         Jacaerys Velaryon




















































i.          The late Larra would tell awful stories; drenched in sweat, some colour smeared on her lips and breath hot with alcohol. Her daughter would notice the blue tint just by her left eye but no one else seemed to notice. Nor did anyone notice the urgency that Larra had to leave the world behind. She would tell stories of the dead – of the ghosts that trailed the paths of their village, of those whose stories were far from being finished. Oddly enough, all the ghosts shared the name Larra. It should've been obvious but it wasn't.

ii.          Larra would've curl her daughter in three blankets and close to her chest whenever a storm would rage outside. Both were scared of it; the thunder reminded Larra of her every day and it would remind her daughter of her father's rage. The other children would sit around and listen to Larra's tales. She'd sing often to them too. She'd sing, Lotho would make bread, Jeyne would sew another pair of blankets, Willam would softly play on the guitar somewhere in the back of the small room. Maybe life wasn't so bad at those nights.

iii.         Larra died sometime in 117 AC. Ynys isn't sure if it was the morning or night. She remembers a town man coming to her when she played in the field with a doll: "mother died." She's not sure what she felt when she was returned home (or, at least, in the building that she called home) or what was happening when Lotho cut the ropes around the girl's neck and laid her on the floor. Or when Jeyne would urge her out of the room, covering her eyes and ushering the children in the living space. She remembers Willam playing the guitar. It was a sad song; The Ballad of Saera Targaryen.

iv.         Ynys was packed upon the old and creaking wheel cart. They owned it for generations before and it showed. She never saw the town again nor the people. Her mother was buried by the river. Ynys likes to believe Larra would've liked it. But, in truth, she didn't know what her mother liked. Who she was, really. The world felt too large for the mind of a child.

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⏰ Last updated: Sep 16 ⏰

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