“If I were to categorize Sekhmet in a mythic sense, “she” appears to have two polarities. In Egyptian mythology, Sekhmet represents the warrior as slayer in the negative polarity, the goddess of plagues and pestilence and all sorts of nasty stuff (directed at the enemies of Egypt in days gone by, of course). Yet, in the positive polarity, this leonine female is the warrior as healer—an archetypal force that expresses fierce compassion—a quality that comes through Sekhmet’s willingness to stand with us while we embodied mortals are in the fires of transformation. She offers this so that we may become who and what our destiny holds out to us…”
-Dr. Hank Wesselman, Forward to Sekhmet: Transformation in the Belly of the Goddess by Nicki Scully
Jon scowls again, he doesn’t like the idea of his sister having to marry into someone else’s house -or the possibility of that house having control of Winterfell “Then Winterfell will go to her husband.” He mutters. “And we can’t have that can we?” It’s not really a question, he knows they can’t have that.
“I know what Lady Brienne said.” Jon sighs. “I’ve been trying not to get my hopes up she saw her several years ago now at this point. That could’ve changed.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m doing my best but unless there’s a legitimization I have no control over winterfell and I won’t attempt to take it. If you’re that insistent about – about ruining my brothers and sister’s chances at their rightful home at least do it right.”
“No. Winterfell belongs to House Stark. Us.” Brandon knew that Jon wasn’t throwing around a question but he still felt like it would be answered. Brandon let out a hefty sigh as Jon spoke again and he curled his fists into a tight ball. “Ruining?” He let out a mix of a scoff and a chuckle. “They have Winterfell Jon. Sansa and Arya..you. Where ever and if he is still alive, Bran’s as well. But someone has to lead. Someone has to be Lord..nay, King in the North like your brother, Robb.”
Brandon laid a hand on Jon’s shoulder, trying to get closer to the young man. “I’m your Uncle, not your enemy, Jon. I want what’s best for you all and for our House. If that means Sansa takes over, she will. I have no doubt she would make a fine Lady or Queen of this house if you won’t take up the mantle as Eddard Stark’s son, bastard or not. It’s your home too. If neither of you will than I have no choice as the original heir and lord of Winterfell…” He broke off not wanting to finish his sentence as his hand fell from Jon and he looked away wishing he wasn’t here. He wasn’t the best with children, hell he was just a few years older than Jon before he almost…as he watched his own father die. He had little to no clue how to handle this children who were grown up, their own struggles that life had thrown at them.
“What I was told t’ do.” Jon says heavily. “Lord Commander Mormont told me t’ learn what I could about the wildlings. This is how to do it.”
“By living with them…by-” He didn’t dare think of what his nephew was doing as a wildling spy. “You start to get to close and cozy…You best remember you are a brother of the Nights Watch” Benjen hissed fearing the worst for Jon.
“Mormont could’ave sent anyone else…” Benjen sighed as he looked at his nephew. His young, sweet and good nephew who shouldn’t have come here. Who was giving up a life the wildlings and their own people could have given him.
Meryll had been advised not to go to the Inn at the Crossroads – it wasn’t safe for a woman alone, they had said. But she had been walking for days since leaving the Twins in the aftermath of the wedding, and she could think of nothing better than a cold ale.
She handled the banter and crass comments well enough, but when a hand reached out to grab her ass, a line had been crossed. Her fingers closed around the neck of the closest bottle and she smiled at the satisfying crack it made when it smashed into Grabby’s head.
Another man was pressing in close and she turned to give him the same treatment, but when she met his surprised eyes she realized he had only meant to help.
Meryll set the bottle down on the table, and stepped out of the way so Grabby’s friends could drag his prone form out of the Inn. She gave her so-called rescuer an assessing look. He was lean and rugged with dark, unkempt hair and stubble around his jaw, and dressed in black leathers. Meryll recalled the last knight to visit the Twins. Ser Barristan had been dressed in white scaled armour with shiny silver fastenings. Everything about the man had been knightly, from his snowy white beard to his mournful blue eyes.
“You don’t look like any knight I’ve ever seen,” she couldn’t help noticing.
His eyes twinkled as the woman set her weapon of choice down and he chuckled. This woman could take care of herself and he admired that about the small brunette. His eyes took her in and he noticed a hint of muscle around her arms and he smirked. “Not formally no. More of a sellsword if i’m honest. Ser Bronn, of the blackwater.” Bronn introduced himself to the woman as he ordered a round of drinks for them both.
“You don’t look like any lady i’ve ever seen” He quipped as he got the mug of ale from the barmaid and kept his blue eyes on the dark haired beauty before they left to look at the man who was still on the floor and the few that had been near the fight were huddled away in a corner, whispering amongst themselves. “You got a name or should I just call you Nymeria?
“Jon” Benjen warned as he moved his nephew aside. “You can’t just do that. Don’t follow in my footsteps. Make friends not enemies.” He had done what Jon had at first and it hadn’t made him popular nor had it made him any friends.
Goldnwulf 