(121-03-15) Nightmares, Witches, Little Girls
Nightmares, Witches, Little Girls
Summary: A sleepless night brings Teryin to the beach and the encounter of a witch, soon after a young Stark
Date: 15/03/2014
Related: Nightmares and the Garden

Isador walks along the beach barefoot. It is around midnight. The wildling witch is all fire and ice in the moonlight - red and black brambles on her dress - her hair wisps about. It is bright red to contrast with her alabaster skin. She collects shells.

The night is dark and the nightmares of Teryin continue to haunt him. He's left behind escorts and friends, a wife in a warm bed, for the open air of Oldtown. Long strides had brought him to this shore to muse of such nightmares and reality. Dressed for war, one would say, the golden chainmail taking the small glow of the overcast moon to give away his presense. The scabbard belt criss-crossed at the small of his back. A shadowy figure in the distance, woman by the clothes and frame. 'Odd to find one out so late..' A ponderous thought, though fully hypocritical of himself.

Leather boots leave tracks as he approaches her, "You there." His voice subtle, unwanting to fully startle anyone. "What brings you here at this hour?" A hand reaches back, gripping the hilt of a blade behind him. He notices the gathering of sea shells, hand slipping from hilt.

The redhead curtsies politely knowing nobility when she sees it. Bright green eyes regard the Lannister Lord. "It is my favorite time my Lord," she tidies up her hair, "The moonlight on the water. The solitude." Her accent is Essosian though she looks like a descendant of the first men.

When the woman curtsies and those green eyes take him in, he shocked at the sight. Her words bring out a common bond between the two. Solitude. Though wed to his beloved wife, he's seen little of her in the last three years. Only memories of her looks and touch stayed with him while he was out on the battle field fighting for the Lannisters. With all that behind him and both having moved to Oldtown, he believed thoughts would become better. They have only gotten worse. Nightmares of losing the one he loves haunts him. Sights of the eatery already built, song and dance, men constantly around her. Having that feeling of her distancing herself from him - finding another man. It's these dreams where he finds himself soaked in sweat and unable to sleep.

"The moonlight is beautiful. Spent many days under it. Wondering if I'll come back from the next day's battle. They say the sun is warm, welcoming, alive - and the moon and night; dark, cold, and dreary. But it's when the sun goes down; moon and stars shine the brightest. Song and dance. Drinking and whoring. Loving and plotting - all these happen in both night and day." He stops short of the woman, his 6'6" frame leaving a long shadow along the pebbled sandy beach. Jade eyes take in the woman, weary now of her.

Isador tosses a few shells into the sea that she does not want and whilst looking away the wildling witch says, "You fear losing your wife still my Lord? Dream of it nightly?" She says it so matter of factly - a casual observation. "Night brings with it opportunities. There are things in the darkness between the stars that bring clarity to many matters - things that cannot be seen in the day."

"How did you know?" Teryin's hand again rests along his waist, fingers waiting to grab the hilt. The young knight doesn't get hostile, instead he's curious of the woman. Another few steps brings him within arms reach, silence as he waits for her answer. Mind swirling with intrigue on how she knew such of his dreams.

"I am…. a witch," Isador says smiling at the sea, "Blood Maegi I believe is the technical term. The last apprentice of Gascoign the Magnificent from Braavos. Though I myself suffered with terrible dreams when I was one of the Freefolk north of the wall. My fellows did not appreciate bad dreams that came true - imputed some causation when people were injured or died. Some people just like to shoot the messenger." The redhead smiles a bittersweet smile.

Teryin's brows furrow as she explains what she is. He's never heard of Gascoign the magnificent, but mention of Braavos is known. "They let witches live here?" His tongue twists the words to Braavosi, though not native, he is quite fluent. What brings him closer are her words of those dreams, his towering frame now only inches from the witch. "Tell me woman. You can see my thoughts. Can you see if they come true?"

"There are some who would take my life - but seeing the future and being a small target makes it a prohibitive task. I am beneath notice mostly," Isador switches to Braavosi herself. "The future is a tricky thing - always shifting. The effects of your actions intermingled with those of your wife and those around her. I can divine it for you. But metaphor takes the place of precision in the exercise. Then there is the risk that you may not like what you hear…"

The lingering in her voice only draws him closer; or is it her scent and alluring figure. Teryin does not know, but he needs to learn what is to become of him and his wife Isara. The warmth of his breath falls against the back of her ear, his head bent down to whisper in the foreign tongue, "If the risk is only my disbelief in what I hear, tell me." The gentle brush of his chainmail can be felt against her bare shoulder, muscles tensing beneath the armor as his hand falls away from the hilt.

Isador turns and faces the Lannister Lord, "Hmm you have the scent of tragedy about you my Lord as do all of those who love truly." Considerably smaller the wildling woman does not seem intimidated by his proximity. "And I suspect you will see your share of heartache before you again lie with someone you love. For more specific information I need blood and space for a ritual. And the time for that… is not tonight…" Isador says arching her shoulders and looking as though she is reading the empty air.

Teryin's jade eyes look into depths of the green, though he senses shes not looking at him. "I have not bedded her, even on our wedding night we did not. She wishes for it now, we spoke of it during the day, just hours past." There is a defiance in his eyes, he's loved Isara since he was thirteen. The giant of a man continues to look down at her, "Does this mean /I/ will be the one who betrays my vows?" Confusion etches in the the creases of his face. "There must be more." Words almost demanding of the witch, pleading with such intrigue.

"You are the one to decide whether you betray your vows my Lord. You spoke of whoring - have you not bedded a woman before my Lord?" Isador props herself on a rock. Evidently she cannot tell everything with that sixth sense of hers.

Teryin is invested in this, following the ivory skinned witch to the rock. He stands before thinning clothed red head, eyes still fixed upon her. "I've never taken a flower nor began a conquest of a woman. My heart has been set on one woman since my thirteenth name day." For a moment his gaze leaves the woman, "My brother was married to her sister briefly. We were…siblings through marriage and she never knew how I felt." The moonlight brings a flicker within his eyes as they return to the witch.

"Well I had many lovers in Braavos - male and female - many skilled in the arts of Lys. I could give you a few hints for your nuptuals. Belated as they are…" Isador offers smiling. She does not do a very good job of building up the mystical untouchable side of the whole witch thing. She seems a little too empathetic and human. "Your mother may not find your spouse worthy of you - but in time she may grow to accept her. Time and distance may help if she does not prove tractable…"

Teryin's head tilts; silently he takes in the moonlight touched glow of the ivory flesh, the curves of her body, the thinness of her clothes. Her offer intensifies the intrigue let alone her knowledge of how his mother had reacted to the marriage. "You have offered much freely. Coming from the Westerlands, I know nothing is free. What is the cost of which I heard, what I wish to hear, and these…" The Braavosi tongue slips to linger on the final word, "hints." The tall figure continues to stand before the woman, arms at his sides, offering no visable threat even towards the witch. She has captivated him with her words, brought out his curious nature and tempered his dislike for anything dealing with black maegik.

"I offer advice freely - my Master traded his abilities for coin and became very wealthy. I on the other hand have my own profession - one given to me by a lover long ago slain by a jealous noble knight. I have only ever asked for a worthy cause to support in payment - strange as that may sound. And goodwill. There are some who have taken my aid and turned on me afterwards." Isador takes out a small wooden dragon that she has carved and for a few seconds it springs to life nashing it's teeth and flapping its wings. An overt display of power. "But we are not speaking of eldritch power here - merely discussing congress between the sheets."

"Advice understandable, the future a different cost." Teryin is standing less than a foot from the red headed witch. The woman perched atop a rock, her moonlit ivory skin glowing around the black, thin cloth of her dress. "What is this cause you speak of?" He continues to gaze into those green gems, wanting to know more of his dreams, what this witch truely knows of his future, and if this woman is real. "You whisper goodwill, you wish a vow of protection?" As the wooden dragon takes life before him, he soon realizes she may infact hold powers. A step forward, thighs but inches from the woman's legs, "What ever the cost, a Lannister or Lefford shall pay. Tell me what you know."

What could disturb such a peaceful night? Well Genevra Stark is one possible thing. The young rebellious noblewoman is currently racing down the path leading to the shore with a cry of victory having escaped the confines of her chambers and the Manse once more. She leaps into the air and turns a flip standing on her hands before flipping back onto her feet. Most young ladies and thier mothers would be appalled and the fact that she is wearing trousers would only make things worse. Her dark braid swings behind her as she skips down the beach her hat having been forgotten somewhere along the way. She pauses when she sees the man and woman staring into each others eyes and her head tilts regarding them curiously. There is caution in those grey eyes as well and she goes quiet not wanting them to notice her if they haven't already.

"Protection? Vows?" the witch stands on the stone and walks seemingly into empty air - floating - flying in fact and slowly floating to the floor. "I have always taken care of myself. In Braavos - through much of my childhood north of the wall. Come to my hovel… not tonight… on the morrow - or sometime during the day. Let us see what I can dig up…" She turns to regard the new entrant - a crimson brow is arched. "The clothing says urchin so why does my mind cry out highborn?" she poses the question seemingly to the open air.

Teryin doesn't notice the sound of feet on the pebbled sandy shore, no he's bewitched by Isador. Eyes remain steadfast on the form as it floats from the rock to the ground. He is about to agree to the terms set forth by the witch, when her words draw him to the form coming down the stretch of beach. "I will seek you out when the sun begins to settle in the horizon then." His tongue keeping the Braavosi to refrain from odd ears hearing of such conversation. The golden chainmail flickers in the moonlight as he turns to walk along side the woman toward the child. "Do you know this one witch?" Still in Braavosi, the knight keeping his name from the woman, if she doesn't already know it, and never asking for hers.

Genevra tosses her braid over her shoulder watching as the pair stroll towards her. She looks curious and somewhat thoughtful at the strange language spoken. Standing her ground she eyes the red haired woman and the man in his golden chainmail carefully. Still the latter gets most of her attention. "Wouldn't that armor make you stand out too much? Standing out isn't always good you know…especially if you aren't strong enough to face someone head on. I have to be sneaky so the golden chainmail would be a poor choice for me…it does look nice though." She smirks faintly as she studies him and doesn't seem to be afraid at all.

"Not known to me - but highborn - and out late…" Isador relates in Braavosi. But switching to common realising she had not introduced herself to the knight, "Oh and my name is Isador…" she curtseys to the young noble maid, "And what is your name my Lady?"

Teryin watches the youth with interest, noticing her attention on him and his armor. Tongue twists back to common after a nod towards the witch. "She's atleast clever enough to sneak out at this hour and knows not to wear flashy armor." Words spoken as a compliment, the jade gaze looking at the short figure compared to his 6'6" frame. "Gifts are not turned away, nor is the protection of the armor." A coy wink tossed towards the young girl, "Do I have the look of someone that doesn't wish to be in the thick of battle?" It's rhetorical of course, "Yes girl, what brings such youth to the solitude of the beach under such moonlight?"

Genevra frowns and lets out a long suffering sigh at Isador's question. "Why does everyone call me Lady? Its as much an insult to me as it is to proper ladies….ladies are silly and weak women who sit about all day doing nothing and waiting to be married off. That is not me." She says that last part with so much conviction its obvious she believes it quite strongly herself. The compliment from the armored man has her smiling faintly. "I couldn't sleep and I wanted to go for a walk so I did….besides its easier to practice my climbing and acrobatics at night when there are no real ladies around to scream and gasp as I climb up the buildings." She looks amused now and drops into a bow more suited to a boy or man than a lady. "I am Genevra Stark and it’s nice to meet you both."

For the moment Isador turns away from the knight and to the girl, "The young lady prefers martial pursuits then? Such a path is not impossible - there are at least two ladies of noble birth who have followed it. One of them recently engaged - another from Braavos - rather more exotic. Much admired she is. To be a fighting woman is a badge of distinction. I guess it's rarity gives it an appeal.."

Teryin laughs at the response from the youth, seeing such distaste of nobility, similar to his own regard of titles. Similar reasons had brought him here, atleast the sleepless night, though after meeting the witch and hearing her words; his thoughts drift to fate bringing him to this beach. "Stark. Winterfell in the North?" He's only heard of the place, living and spending much of his life in the Westerlands. "Must be true, ice in the veins of the Northmen." He turns to Isador even as she's turned away, "Or they choose to thrust their swords rather than receive the thrusting." The tone nearly deadpan, though the thought of a woman who could best him in combat would gain his respect, for what it's worth. "She is young and wild, what cannot be tamed by maesters and handmaidens can be forced down by what she fears most - marriage."

Genevra nods to Teryin. "Yes I come from Winterfell." She tilts her head and frowns heavily at the mention of marriage. "Any man who thinks he can break me will be met with disappointment. I don't want to get married and anyone who tries to make me will fail." She speaks with conviction again and the determination in her makes her dark grey eyes shine. "Some things are worse than death, cages and becoming some smelly old lord's wife are two of them and tend to go hand in hand." This part is said very quietly and she glances to Isador wistfully. "I wish I could find someone to train me properly though. I want to learn to fight more than anything else…My father forbid the knight back home from teaching me after he found out I wanted to learn but I already knew a little bit by that point. I practice daily but there is only so much I can learn alone."

"Hmm some creatures were not meant to be tamed," Isador remarks to Teryin. "I am no warrior - but I know many. Surely a resourceful Lady such as yourself would be able to find someone who would be willing? The consent of your guardians always helps of course."

"Youthful thoughts it seems. Your mother must be driven mad by your antics." Teryin remains standing next to the witch, the allure still in the air, "Death is finite, cages and marriages are not. Death brings relief from the cages and the marriage. It can be honorable as well." A hand reach to the small of his back, fingers curling around the hilt of his valyrian blade. Slowly the blade is drawn out, "Summer." The name of the blade spoken as he reverses the grip. "Come here child. Let's test the witch's remark that not all creatures were meant to be tamed." The other hand slips back to withdraw the twin of Summer out, "These two blades came from Braavos, they're history passed on to me. Summer and Winter, twin blades of valyrian steel." His jade eyes glance towards Isador, her attention still on the youth. The hilt of Summer is offered towards the child.

Genevra smirks. "She rarely notices…she isn't the most observant of mothers." When Teryin draws his blade her eyes widen a bit and she studies the blade with excited eyes. Listening to the man as he speaks the look of awe grows in her eyes and when the blade is offered to her she reaches up to grasp the hilt carefully and looks from the blade to the man with a cautious expression like she is expecting some kind of trick or test. "Summer…it’s a beautiful blade…" She admits her tone still somewhat awed. The blade is bit heavier than what she is used to but her grip on it is decent, at least someone taught her how to hold a blade properly. She admires the blade a moment a smile on her face but she remains alert for any sudden movements from the man as well.

The Red witch smiles at the two, "A duel then? I unfortunately must alight - business calls me elsewhere. I bid you both good eve…" The barefoot red witch wanders off into the moonlight in the direction of her hovel

Teryin watches as the witch's bare feet leave such an impression as she wonders up the path away from the beach. He doesn't give much mind to the youth until the red devil has reached the start of the path. "You hold it well, though one must find the balance between sword and dagger when using such a blade." The knight is ambidextrous, this trait shown as the blade is brought in fancy movements of his wrist and arm, body contorting as the hilt is passed to his other hand and the same motion repeated.

Genevra nods and tries to mimic those movements with the blade in her hand. She does well for one her age who is untrained and its clear that she is determined to learn. She is a bit clumsy at first but seems to be quickly adjusting to the weight of the blade. The movements of her wrist and arms is not as smooth as his own but the potential is there.

Teryin nods in approval, watching Summer take the glow of the moon with each motion of her limbs. "Now both at once." Winter is flipped, the hilt grabbed in reverse fashion. "Do you enjoy dancing?" He asks, hand lowering and fingers uncurling around the second blade as it's offered.

Genevra takes the second blade carefully and after testing the weight of having both blades begins the motions again her brows furrowed in concentration. She is a bit slower with both blades more careful but her movement gradually gains more speed and while she isn't a blur of motion she moves with rather surprising grace offering a little nod to Teryin at his question not stopping her movements. "Its one of the few lessons I actually enjoy yes."

"Good. I learned the way of blades as well as other teachings through dance." Teryin continues to watch the glow of Summer and way Winter seems to turn such light into darkness. "You show good grace with both blades, but your wrists are sloppy. Let the blade become part of your limbs." His voice is gruff and stern. The lack of sleep, the nightmares, the words of the witch, her departure, and now he's entertaining a youth with his blades - such an odd turn of events all caused by a chicken for dinner and a tired wife unwilling to go for a walk. "Faster now. Using two blades means you have no shield. Speed is your defense and offense." The knight seems harsh, but the potential of the girl has brought a small amount of respect. He will push her hard, helping sow the seed of swordsmanship tonight. "Move your whole body as one. Do not just stand there and wave your arms like a bird in flight." Slowly the man walks around her, keeping his distance for his own safety.

Genevra begins to move her feet as well circling him and steping back and forth twisting her body to one side and then the other as if dodging unseen enemies. She concentrates working on speeding up and loosening the movements of her wrists. She moves faster and faster her movements no longer as cautious as she gains confidence. Faster and faster her feet move along with her arms and the blades in her hands. She appears to have a natural talent but its raw and unrefined but with more practice she could be quite good. She concentrates on his words bringing one blade up and then twisting it down in an arc before doing the same with the other while she dances around him the blades flashing in the moonlight. She moves gracefully and while there is a certain amount of awkwardness with the blades in her grip at first it fades quickly in the face of her determination.

The youth is impressing him, but he wants her to know it's not that easy. With a single move, Teryin's hand grabs her wrist. The blades meet as his other hand had slipped through, fingertips jabbing roughly into the sternum of Genevra. "Dead." There is something in his jade eyes, the lighting of the moon and reflex from the waters. Slowly his hands withdraw, fingers loosen their grip. Wear chainmail breaks and the gauntlet begins, a small trickle of blood begins to spill onto the sandy beach, turning the sand a crimson hue. "The hour is late and my wife will miss me if I do not return." Hands turn over, expecting the hilts of his blades returned to him. "You continue to practice and perhaps…" His voice lingers, shifting to Braavosi, "I'll turn you into a swordsman yet." A coy smile crosses his lips, eyes still drawn upon the youth.

"Alright. I hope I will see you again…I would like to learn more." Genevra pauses her movements and offers the hilts of the blades back to Teryin with a smile. She is a bit out of breath but her excitement is obvious she nods looking curious as he switches his language once again. "I will. I will practice as often as I can everyday." She looks up at him with determination and a smile upon her features. She looks at the droplets of blood on the sand and then back to the man with concern. "Take care then and be sure to bandage that cut if it needs it." She turns to go offering him a little wave before she runs off.

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