She kept her hands fixed between his dark mane, fingers tracing soothing lines over his scalp. and she hummed softly.
“I thought, perhaps if it is a boy, we should name him Martyn for your father, or Rodrick for your uncle. As for a girl, I am not certain I can think of any I can settle on.”
“What about after one of your brothers?” He asked noticing how she had left them out of the equation. “Wylla, after Wylla the warrior maiden? Nymeria?” He asked unsure himself about what kind of name to give their child if it were a daughter. There were so many options and to choose one for the babe seemed impossible. Jory sat back, sighing heavily. “How did Eddard and Cat name all of their children.” he laughed shaking his head slightly.
Isyla fell into him, even in times she was stubborn in her convictions it was impossible to resist it. A body felt at home, right where it was meant to be and she buried her face in his chest. Her lips trailing over his forehead and cheeks.
“I know you will, I don’t doubt that. I sometimes fear to lose you again and I simply couldn’t bear it.”
He sighed happily as he felt her kiss his face and how he longed to stay and not fight. Stay with his wife and child but he knew deep in his heart he couldn’t do that to the Starks and all that they did for him. “I’ll be back before you know it.” He told her before he gave a laugh at an idea “Unless you broke both my legs right before I left”
“Well, I just never want you to think anything else.” She begins, tugging his hand over her barely budding belly. “ Besides, There’s no need to wait longer for that.”
His hand is placed on her belly and he smiles, pure joy coming from his face, radiating. “Have you thought of names?” He asked as he bent down to kiss her belly.
There had been whispers of war, and she couldn’t bear the thought of it all. Not now, not while she had him back.The tears wiped from her eyes before coming to him, but the notion of distress was still present in her features.
“I overheard some Lords speaking to a southern invasion, Jory.”
Jory had heard about this coming war, but he had faith in his Lord, in House Stark and the others that the Southern invasion would be avoided and dealt with in something other than another pointless bloody war. It seemed before and after Robert’s reign as King there had been nothing but bloodshed. “That won’t come to pass. It can’t.” Jory told Isyla as he brought her into him and wrapped his arms around her. “If it does come, I will keep our family safe. I promise you that, Isyla.”
Jory had seen the handmaiden arriving long before she had made herself known and he knew his time with Islya was cut short. He kept his mouth closed as she spoke about her lord husband, the words ‘I’m here’ caught in his throat and as he glanced over at Islya as he pulled away fro the kiss, forcing himself to do so, knowing she was having similar thoughts.
“Allow me to escort you both to him.” Jory said, looking at the young girl, making it clear he was going to go with Islya no matter what the girl said, and she just nodded, too scared and cold to say much else and offered Islya a smile. A rare gentle smile.
It’s going to be fine. Jory thought to himself as he walked with the two women to greet Lord Glover and Jory relished in seeing the Lord’s face as he made it a point to stay close to Isyla as the old Lord came ino view and he shuddered at the thought of his dear lady wife having to share a bed with this man.
Lord Glover was an older man, but he was like any Northern man. The appeal was rugged and modest, his long ginger hair was losing its lustre with greys speckled through. The sight of his young, Dornish wife made him smile, but it changed into something of quiet rage when he recognized the man beside her.
Her husband, back from the dead. He had only heard word recently, but by then he had already stolen the opportunity to have the girl for himself. Ned had been hesitant about it, the age difference was significant, but Robb was quick to keep the Lords supporting hin, content.
The man had been holding out, 45 long years for a wife good enough hold the attention of the old brute. Now that a supposed corpse was walking, didn’t mean he could have her back.
“Ahh, My beautiful wife.” He made it a point to take her to his side, far from the Captain of Winterfells guard. “Thank you for returning her to me.” He spoke through gritted teeth and kissed her lovingly on lips.
Isyla was screaming on the inside, she was sure Jory would just stab the Lord in the throat and steal her away. But she was also sure of his loyalty to Robb and house Stark. She could only offer him an apologetic look, truly helpless at the mercy of this man.
“I trust your journey was enjoyable.” She replied to the man that now believed he owned her. His kiss felt wrong, especially in the presence of the man that she truly belonged to. “Thank you, Jory.” I love you- Her eyes conveyed.
Jory’s fingernails dug into his palms as Lord Glover took Islya from his side and he only nodded as Lord Glover spoke, figuring he shouldn’t speak because he feared what would have come if he began to speak. But as he watched Isyla being kissed by him, it was breaking him. This man didn’t have the right to do what he was doing and Jory wanted to steal Islya away, hurt Lord Glover. Jory knew if he did he would risk Robb’s war, risk his alliances. He prayed to the Gods Galbert would die soon and he could take back his wife.
“You’re most welcome Islya.” He ignored Glover’s words. “Should you need me for any reason, you know where to find me.” He made a point to draw out his words, looking at Glover the whole time, seething with anger and he knew he needed to talk to Robb at some point, but was being called by a new recruit asking for Jory to train them. “Excuse me, I’m afraid i am needed.” He slowly and reluctingly left, his eyes not leaving Islya until he was forced to.
Jory had seen the handmaiden arriving long before she had made herself known and he knew his time with Islya was cut short. He kept his mouth closed as she spoke about her lord husband, the words ‘I’m here’ caught in his throat and as he glanced over at Islya as he pulled away fro the kiss, forcing himself to do so, knowing she was having similar thoughts.
“Allow me to escort you both to him.” Jory said, looking at the young girl, making it clear he was going to go with Islya no matter what the girl said, and she just nodded, too scared and cold to say much else and offered Islya a smile. A rare gentle smile.
It’s going to be fine. Jory thought to himself as he walked with the two women to greet Lord Glover and Jory relished in seeing the Lord’s face as he made it a point to stay close to Isyla as the old Lord came ino view and he shuddered at the thought of his dear lady wife having to share a bed with this man.
He didn’t want to hear her say those words, as it only made the reality of the situation sink in even more. Jory wiped away her tears and kissed her lips and her cheeks, and lastly on the forehead. Trying to contain his anger at hearing how Robb had allowed for this to happen. His hands clenched around Isyla, he had never hated Robb but hearing that the young man had known about Isyla’s marriage, had known Jory to be alive and kept this from him….
“He’s allowed us both to suffer….” The words came out harsher then he had expected them to. “I cannot allow this to continue. Lord Glover will annul his marriage to you. He’s a loyal, good man.” Jory tried to persuade himself, though he knew if he were in Galbart’s position he would fight to the death to keep Isyla and Jory would do so if it meant keeping what was and is rightfully his.
“They both will see what they have done and Robb will see the error in his ways”
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.
“Islya?”
She thought her head was hearing voices now, that his low Northern brogue was simply carrying through the halls of Winterfell, haunting her. Isyla looked up at the sound of her name. Her name on his lips, she was stunned. It couldn’t be, he wasn’t standing in front of her, this was simply a shadow of madness taking over for grief.
His scarred left eye took nothing away from his handsome face, her own agony was reflected on his own. She couldn’t speak, not when the tears overtook every word that tried to escape, she fell on her knees, her body giving out in weakness. “Jory, It can’t be.” She whispered, her voice crackling between sobs.
“Why are you haunting me?”
As he watched Isyla crumble to the ground he followed her, his hands shakily reached out to her, his breathing was ragged and he wasn’t sure if this was a dream. It had to be. Islya was here. She was real. He felt her skin on his calloused hands and pulled her into him. “I could ask the same of you” He finally managed to say. He still couldn’t believe that she was back in Winterfell and that’s when he saw the black dress and he felt himself holding back tears. “I’m here, i’m alive my love.” Then it hit him. Why would she be here? She should have been in Dorne and if she hadn’t gotten his raven, clearly…
“You’re my wife.” He uttered, suddenly peiceing together all the informtion he had only half heard. She was now Lady Glover and he held her tighter, his anger taking hold of him. “No one else’s. I’ll go to Robb. Robb will fix everything.”
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.
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.
Goldnwulf 