He was sure he had dead. The pain from the stabbing was so intense he had passed out and was left for dead. It wasn’t till a few weeks later that he woke up and woke to only vision in one eye. Jory was glad to have been alive, while he was handicapped it didn’t stop him from trying to get back to Kings Landing and to serve his Lord, Eddard Stark. But that’s when he had heard the news. Eddard was dead, Arya was gone and Sansa was still in the capitol. The Capatin of the guard heard of Robb Stark’s push to become King in the North and so, Jory headed home to Winterfell.
He had gotten back home, pledged his sword and house to Robb and went to go see his wife, but she wasn’t in Winterfell at all. She had just left for Dorne and Jory would have left to chase her down in a heartbeat, but Robb advised against it, sending a raven would be better and he needed Jory in the coming times at Winterfell.
So, Jory sent his Raven and prayed to the Gods it would reach her in time and she wouldn’t think of herself as a widow for much longer. The idea of her believing him to be dead…to be a widow, prehaps her father already arranging a marriage for her, broke his heart and he sat in his chambers, his head between his knees as he tried to hold back his tears.
It was Robb who delivered her the news, who picked her up when she was a crumbled, weeping mess on the stone floor. He allowed her to stay, to grieve for a life she had barely been given the chance to live. Isyla and her Jory had not been married a month when he followed his lord to Kings Landing, as was his duty, his honour had killed him. The gloom and heartache followed her every step, she found more melancholy in every fresh snowfall, every little thing that reminded her of her husband.
The North had been a place for her no longer, for the Dornish widow was back into her fathers playing table. She had left the North clad in black with Jory’s spare, heavy cloak and the feeling of complete emptiness within.
As Isyla expected, her father allotted her no time to mourn, seeing her doleful face only served to anger him, so he did what any cruel man would do. Lord Wyl arranged for his daughter to marry a Glover, Glabart Glover to be specific. She’d be left in the North, near the Wolfswood Jory had taken her on her first and only hunt. Near the keep that she fell in love in, where she believed her life would be spent raising Northern children in the embrace of the man who loved her. It was the cruelest fate she could have been handed.
Galbart would surely send her back, an ever mourning young woman whose blood had run frigid from heartbreak.
“My lady, we will have to rest in Winterfell, Lord Glover is a guest of King Robb.” One of the Glover men sent to escort her informed her. She nodded softly, the life had gone from her once bright amber eyes. Isyla still wore his cloak, but the rest of her remained shrouded in black.
Time had passed for Jory slowly, Agonizingly so, as he went day by day. Jory tried to return to life at Winterfell as best he could but he just saw little point now that Isyla was gone and a raven hadn’t come back with any Dornish letter. If it wasn’t for Robb Jory was certain he’d become a sell sword or he’d be off in Dorne in search of Isyla. He could hear what Robb was telling him as the staff rushed to make Winterfell a welcoming place for Lord Glover’s staff as they’d be staying for a while as they were escorting his new wife back to their lord’s house.
He walked aimsly through the halls of Winterfell, almost a ghost. He talked little and hardly anyone but the Stark boys, Theon and his Uncle Rodrick talked to him. Which Jory was fine with. As he did walked through the halls, needing to find Robb and tell him that Rodrick was ill and he could train the new recruits if need be, he nearly ran into a woman and he didn’t look at her, only dipped his head. “Apologies M’lady” His voice was quieter then it had been since he had left for Kings Landing, softer even. It wasn’t till he looked up did he see the woman he had sworn to love and protect and be with until his last day and Jory didn’t believe it. He’d been seeing things. He had to be. There was no way that this was….and yet the longer he stared at her with his one good eye did he find himself to be looking at Isyla and Jory stood frozen. He had no idea how to react, he wanted to run away, saying it was a figment of his imagination and he wanted to grab a hold of her and kiss her and never let her go again.
Goldnwulf 