thosedamnskywalkers | medieval smackdown au open post

Jon hasn't been sleeping too well overall, too many things to do and too much plaguing his brain to allow him time to rest. So he's awake when he sees the torchlight by the crypts. And he's curious enough to know who is there, who decided to slip down into them at such an odd hour. It takes a minute for him to get to the crypt, pushing the door open with a small lantern in his hand to light his way. Though there's a blink when he sees who it is in the crypts.

"Jane?" He calls gently, hoping he won't startle her as he comes up behind her. Though seeing that she looks cold despite her cloak he shifts his off and drapes his own warm cloak around her shoulders without question or comment, hoping it will help to keep her warm. "Is everything okay? Are you looking for something down here?" Because what else would potentially bring her down here, save for looking for something. Though what she might be looking for, he's not sure either.

She almost draws her dagger on him when she hears his footsteps, but then he's calling out her name and she relaxes. She knows that voice, has heard it more than enough these past days, with all the feasting and the planning and the war preparations.

She's not cold cold, really, but then he's draping his cloak around her and she can't help the blush that stain her cheeks; fortunately it's dark enough for him not to notice. Hopefully. "Aye, I'm alright." She hesitates for a moment. "Something... woke me. I don't know what it was, but I can feel it." She gazes out into the darkness ahead of them, stretching further down the crypt. "There."

He'd hope that she doesn't need that dagger anywhere in the Keep, save enough that things won't hurt or attack her. That the men were safe enough that she wouldn't need to stab anyone because they treated her well and properly. though at the same time he'd understand the need of a knife. It's not like he's put his sword up despite the late hour either, it's still resting on his hip at his side. And he'd hope that she's not tired of his voice, having heard it so much the past several days.

The stain to her cheeks he's not sure if he sees or if it's a trick of the lantern and torchlight. But he doesn't pause to consider or question it either, letting her have it if that's what it is, or letting it be a trick of the light. Instead, he offers her a small smile when she says she's alright. Though curiosity slides into his gaze as she continues to speak and he glances further down the crypt. "Something woke you," he echos softly as he moves to step down toward the darkness, lantern stretched to light the way as he moves. "Any idea how far down?"

There's no question as to the what, even as he's wondering exactly what might be calling to her. There shouldn't be anything down here, not even the rats really as there's too much cold and not enough food. So what could possibly be down here to call to her. And yet, he's seen her with Ghost and Ringo, with other animals. Maybe that's why he doesn't quite question it either. She seems to have an affinity for animals, so if one is down here calling to her maybe it's scared or hurt and needs help.

It's weird, she knows. To be hearing voices, to be seeing things. But nobody's really asked her to explain or talk about the things she's been experiencing since coming to Winterfell — her family's used to it and the Northerners don't want to be rude — so she's just kept the details to herself. Until now. "Aye. I get... dreams." She doesn't quite succeed at making that sound like an offhand comment. "And feelings, sensations. Something..." She hesitates. "Something alive."

She follows closely behind him, enough that their shoulders brush against each other's occasionally. "Wait." She stills for a moment in her tracks, closing her eyes. It's not a call per se. More of an impression. "Warm. It's here, but somewhere warm." But is there any part of the crypt that's warm, seeing how cold and dark it is in the first place? Unless—

"The springs." She looks at him, and she's probably not making sense to him but to her, at least, it's starting to come together. "It would be near the springs."

Considering his brother can slide into animals and basically be them, it's not the weirdest thing he's heard if he's being honest. And then there's the he came back to life from the dead thing. Weird is kind of this family's staple. Though he's not even sure if she knows either of those two things, or has heard whispers about them. Though, if she wants to talk about it, he's also more than willing to sit and listen to her explain it or talk about what she's feeling at other times or how it works. He'd like to spend more time with her, without the family and business in general if he's being honest. "Something alive, here in the crypts?"

He believes her, to the point that there's slight concern because maybe it is a hurt animal or something that needs their attention. And while he's focused on the task at hand, finding what's calling to her, he's also acutely aware of those brushes of their shoulds together and the way it makes him feel. He stills at her word, wait, and looks over at her as she tries to figure out where it's coming from. here, but somewhere warm.

She's actually making sense some, because he nods when she looks at him. Somewhere warm but close to right here. "We can head down to the springs, I think there's a back corner that ends up below the crypt or just right around them?" He motions gently, an after you, kind of gesture. It's almost like a treasure hunt, exciting and any tiredness from the day is erased with the prospect of finding what's calling to her, with it just being the two of them.

A way through the crypts to the springs. Good, at least they just have to continue on. She nods at him, stepping in front of him when he offers that she take the lead, walking fearlessly through the cold and darkness and the intimidating stone sculptures of the dead Kings of Winter.

Though a little while later she's stopping again; not anywhere close to the springs, the crypt still stretching on into the darkness ahead of them, lined with unsealed tombs waiting for the rest of the dead. She turns to the tombs to their side, lifting her torch to see the three tombs side by side. Faces she doesn't recognize, but something about them had called out to her just now, too. A lord in the middle, with a long, stern face that could only belong to a Stark, and two smaller sepulchers on his either side... his children? A boy and a girl.

"Who are they?" she asks Jon, frowning. Unable to help herself, she reaches a hand out towards Lyanna's statue, but her fingers don't touch the stone, not yet. "Who is she?"

Truthfully, he's confident that there's nothing here to fear in the crypts. Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if they were the last two up right now either, with it being so late. But they're both armed which means they can handle anything that might pop up too.

He blinks when he looks up at the tombs that she stops in front of, three siblings with a fourth still alive and cheating death. It's hard not to know the largest one, the Lord of Winterfell before him, the man who raised him. Jon's hand reaches out to rest on the stone at Ned's feet as he watches her reach a hand out toward Lyanna's statue with her harp. He'd never understood why his father had her carved with the harp, since neither she nor Robert were the musical type. Though Rhaegar was, not that he knows it. He's curious what's drawn her to these statues, if this is where what she's hearing has pulled her to.

"The last generation of Starks before my and Sansa's line," Jon offers gently. "My father," he nods to the one he's resting his hand on, "Ned Stark. His brother Brandon, and that's his sister, Lyanna. She's who Robert Baratheon went to war with the Targaryens over." They'd been raised with the stories, especially because she was family. That Rhaegar had kidnapped her, that Robert had gone to war to get her back. That he'd been too late.

She hasn't quite followed the stories, but something about Lyanna is calling out to her. "She's beautiful," she murmurs, a strange quietness to her voice, and her hand closes around the harp—

There's a scream and Jane turns to the sound of the voice. A tower. She doesn't know how or why, but something tells her she has to hurry. She takes a step forward, yet her body feels impossibly heavy; it's only a moment later that she realizes that she's in armor, and carrying a sword. A man's armor. A man's sword. A man. She's a man.

She blinks, and she's inside the tower. A woman is lying in a bed of blood. She's beautiful. "Lyanna?" she croaks, and her feet move on their own accord and drag her over. She kneels by the woman's side, taking hold of her hand. She's cold. She's dying. "You're not going to die," she says, in a man's voice.

The princess, back in the realm of the living and in the now, doesn't even realize she's slipped away, having grown as pale and as still as the statues in front of her. Except that her eyes are wide and her lips are moving. "Promise me, Ned. Promise me," she echoes the Lyanna in her vision, her brown eyes staring far, far away. Beyond the statue, beyond the crypt, beyond the present. "Aegon. His name is Aegon Targaryen. If Robert finds out, he'll kill him. You know he will. You have to protect him. Promise me, Ned. Promise me."

Then Jane draws her hand back with a gasp that echoes in the darkness, stumbling back and practically into Jon. "Promise me, Ned. Promise me," she continues to mutter, as though delirious with fever.

There's a soft smile from Jon as she says Lyanna is beautiful, but he stills a little as she grows pale and still in front of him and he can't help but worry about what's wrong. He doesn't understand the words that fall from her mouth, because they don't quite make sense. Though something in the pit of his stomach says that he needs to understand them when she has time and comes back to herself to explain.

His arms wrap around her protectively when she stumbles back, having already started moving forward to catch her arm in the hopes of bringing her back to herself. So he just holds her for a moment as she mutters about promises from Ned. Ned his father. Robert had to be Baratheon. But who was Aegon Targaryen? There hadn't been one in any of the stories that revolved around his father or Robert and Lyanna. Only Rhaegar and his siblings. One hand strokes along her back to offer comfort and keep her safe as he looks down at her.

After a moment, his free hand will cup her cheek gently to see if she's starting to come back to herself. He doesn't want to have to call her family to tend to her if she's alright, but he'll lift and carry her to them if she isn't. "Jane?" His voice is soft as his head dips a little closer to hers so he can see her better in the low light. "Are you alright?" The questions about what that was can come after, when he's sure she's okay, when he's sure she's not sounding delirious.

"Promise me, Ned—" She blinks, finally registering the hand on her cheek and feeling a rush of heat as her sight clears and she finds herself staring back at Jon. She's back in the crypt, but the look on his face seems to say that she's just had an episode. How embarrassing. "I... I'm alright," she says after a moment, catching her breath. Her heart's pounding, though she's not entirely sure it's not just because of her vision, either, not with them standing so close together.

She takes hold of his arm to steady herself, for a moment still feeling like the ground is tilting in one direction or another. "Sorry. I—" She glances at the statue of Lyanna, frowning. "I think I just saw her die."

Even as she comes back to herself he doesn't let go of her or back away, instead staying close to her and holding her to ensure she's okay. There's concern in his gray eyes as he watches her, not caring about what that might have been but instead for her as a whole. Though he's seen a few things in his time, someone slipping into a vision isn't going to scare him off either. There's a small look of relief when she says she's alright, though his hand stays settled on her cheek still. He can't quite pull himself to let her go. Instead the urge is to hug her to him, though he's not sure that's right of him to do either since they barely know each other. "Are you sure? Do you need water or somewhere to sit?"

His eyes flicker up to Lyanna and he lets himself draw her into a hug. The hand on her cheek sliding into her hair gently to offer her sturdy arms that won't let her fall even if the ground feels like it's tilting in a direction. "You know of all the tales, that's one of the few that's missing. No one has really said how she died, at least not to me." It's a hole in all the stories. He knew she'd supposedly been kidnapped, and that she had died during the rebellion but he can't remember anyone saying how. "That couldn't have been easy to see," he murmurs softly. "Though, you said Promise me Ned? Did you see my father there with her?" There's a small pause before he shakes his head, "We don't have to talk about it right now if you don't want to though. If you need to rest instead." Was this the thing that had been calling to her down here though? Not an animal but a vision luring her in?

medieval smackdown au open post

1 - ohhh is this where they find the dragons? Are the eggs calling to her?

yaaaas MOTHER OF DRAGONS Y'ALL 😏🥳

She's the Mother of Dragons we deserve! 😏😏😏

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