Frozen Stone
ELEVEN
Maranda stood on the path on the rocky hill, watching the lone horse urgently galloping towards her. Ghost ran behind it, following the rider with ease and not losing ground. As another wave of pain flooded her left arm, Maranda gripped her elbow and squeezed it, trying to distract her mind with the more comfortable pressure below her wound.
“Take the milk of the poppy, would you?” Osha growled, repeating herself yet again. Maranda refused to acknowledge her, partly because she knew that she would be fine and partly because she knew that Danelle needed it more than her. She dared to glance to her left and spied Danelle lying against a rock, eyes closed and face pale, as Barra dabbed a damp rag against her forehead in attempt to dull the fever. Maranda felt awful about everyone’s injuries. They had acted in self defence, the only reason why she used violence, but she did not want her job to become slaughter, for her friends or for the Northern guards. The horse suddenly flew over the rise and Jon pulled it to a hasty stop, dust and stones flying from its hooves.
“I heard there was a fight. What happened? Are you all right?” he called out anxiously, jumping from the horse to approach his allies. Maranda had been prepared to yell at him out of anger, but the caring tone had taken her aback and she unexpectedly froze.
“We have one possibly fatally injured,” Osha began in place of Maranda. “One stubborn, seriously injured woman-” Osha gave a sharp look at Maranda, “but otherwise our cuts and bruises will heal.” Jon stepped closer to Maranda, a sympathetic expression creasing his face.
“Had I have known that Robb was sending patrols in the Wolfswood, I wouldn’t have suggested you go to Deepwood Motte, I swear it. I don’t wish any harm to come to you,” he urged, pleading for forgiveness even though Maranda was staring at the ground as though she wasn’t listening. In actuality she was paying close attention to Jon’s words and tone, shocked to hear someone speaking so emotionally about her. “Is it bad?” He gestured towards the bandage wrapped around her upper left arm, and Osha sighed when once again Maranda failed to reply.
“She won’t take milk of the poppy for it anymore. Talk some sense into her. No point in suffering,” Osha instructed, her frustration clear, before she stalked away from the pair.
“You have milk of the poppy?” Jon asked softly and Maranda gave a short shake of her head.
“Danelle needs it more than I do,” she insisted as he eyed up the covered wound.
“May I?” Due to his gentle tone, Maranda sensed that he would be far softer than Osha had been when tending the injury, and she gave a defeated short nod. Jon carefully reached out and removed the wrapping, revealing a bloodied gash that diagonally sliced through the bruised flesh on her pale upper arm. “Have you seen a Maester?” Maranda shook her head.
“We tried in one village, but Stark calvary appeared and ordered the town to not help any female bandits that might pass through. Osha somehow managed to steal the bottle of milk of the poppy as we left.”
“I will go to the nearest town then. I can get the supplies we need, they won’t question me,” Jon explained as he pulled slowly on the skin just below the wound, opening it up and revealing a small layer of pus as Maranda winced. “We can’t have that rot. An archer needs both her arms.”
“I’ll be fine,” Maranda muttered as she pulled away from his touch. She had been so absorbed in his care and kindness, lost in the moment, that she had momentarily forgotten that she didn’t want to associate herself with affection. Even bonding with her companions was becoming troubling, as Danelle’s injuries were upsetting Maranda far more than she would like. Jon’s furrowed brow above concerned eyes and offers to aid her were nice, but she just couldn’t accept his help. She couldn’t give in and become too attached to him, for she knew that ultimately only pain would result.
“But- Maranda,” Jon breathed, confused. He tried to meet her eyes but she kept her gaze to the ground, hiding her emotions until Jon lifted her chin and pressed his lips against hers. Afterwards he pulled back, keeping a hand cupping her chin as he stared into her eyes, watching her expression soften as she lifted her hand and placed it atop his, his touch feeling so wonderful against her skin. “Let me take care of you.” Without hesitation, Maranda nodded.
“Take the milk of the poppy, would you?” Osha growled, repeating herself yet again. Maranda refused to acknowledge her, partly because she knew that she would be fine and partly because she knew that Danelle needed it more than her. She dared to glance to her left and spied Danelle lying against a rock, eyes closed and face pale, as Barra dabbed a damp rag against her forehead in attempt to dull the fever. Maranda felt awful about everyone’s injuries. They had acted in self defence, the only reason why she used violence, but she did not want her job to become slaughter, for her friends or for the Northern guards. The horse suddenly flew over the rise and Jon pulled it to a hasty stop, dust and stones flying from its hooves.
“I heard there was a fight. What happened? Are you all right?” he called out anxiously, jumping from the horse to approach his allies. Maranda had been prepared to yell at him out of anger, but the caring tone had taken her aback and she unexpectedly froze.
“We have one possibly fatally injured,” Osha began in place of Maranda. “One stubborn, seriously injured woman-” Osha gave a sharp look at Maranda, “but otherwise our cuts and bruises will heal.” Jon stepped closer to Maranda, a sympathetic expression creasing his face.
“Had I have known that Robb was sending patrols in the Wolfswood, I wouldn’t have suggested you go to Deepwood Motte, I swear it. I don’t wish any harm to come to you,” he urged, pleading for forgiveness even though Maranda was staring at the ground as though she wasn’t listening. In actuality she was paying close attention to Jon’s words and tone, shocked to hear someone speaking so emotionally about her. “Is it bad?” He gestured towards the bandage wrapped around her upper left arm, and Osha sighed when once again Maranda failed to reply.
“She won’t take milk of the poppy for it anymore. Talk some sense into her. No point in suffering,” Osha instructed, her frustration clear, before she stalked away from the pair.
“You have milk of the poppy?” Jon asked softly and Maranda gave a short shake of her head.
“Danelle needs it more than I do,” she insisted as he eyed up the covered wound.
“May I?” Due to his gentle tone, Maranda sensed that he would be far softer than Osha had been when tending the injury, and she gave a defeated short nod. Jon carefully reached out and removed the wrapping, revealing a bloodied gash that diagonally sliced through the bruised flesh on her pale upper arm. “Have you seen a Maester?” Maranda shook her head.
“We tried in one village, but Stark calvary appeared and ordered the town to not help any female bandits that might pass through. Osha somehow managed to steal the bottle of milk of the poppy as we left.”
“I will go to the nearest town then. I can get the supplies we need, they won’t question me,” Jon explained as he pulled slowly on the skin just below the wound, opening it up and revealing a small layer of pus as Maranda winced. “We can’t have that rot. An archer needs both her arms.”
“I’ll be fine,” Maranda muttered as she pulled away from his touch. She had been so absorbed in his care and kindness, lost in the moment, that she had momentarily forgotten that she didn’t want to associate herself with affection. Even bonding with her companions was becoming troubling, as Danelle’s injuries were upsetting Maranda far more than she would like. Jon’s furrowed brow above concerned eyes and offers to aid her were nice, but she just couldn’t accept his help. She couldn’t give in and become too attached to him, for she knew that ultimately only pain would result.
“But- Maranda,” Jon breathed, confused. He tried to meet her eyes but she kept her gaze to the ground, hiding her emotions until Jon lifted her chin and pressed his lips against hers. Afterwards he pulled back, keeping a hand cupping her chin as he stared into her eyes, watching her expression soften as she lifted her hand and placed it atop his, his touch feeling so wonderful against her skin. “Let me take care of you.” Without hesitation, Maranda nodded.
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Who's glad she has given in?