𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭; j. snow

-𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐯𝐢

i never ever do this, but omg. LOOK AT THIS ABSOLUTELY STUNNING GIF MY AWESOME MOOT (mayabrekker 
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KING'S LANDING 298 AC

    She went straight from her mother to the injured man. She didn't know if Sansa knew, so she would sadly avoid her until later that day. Remaining guards were on heavy lockdown of the tower. She could only imagine how frightened the girls were.

    "Please. I have no malice in my heart for the Starks. I came to check on Lord Stark, to make sure Maester Pycelle was treating to him properly," she pleaded. They were the same guards she had threatened just mere hours earlier. They looked at each other, remembering her promise of fetching her father if they refused her.

    They reluctantly opened the doors for her, much to her delight. She sprinted up the stairs and to the door of the former Hand. Her heart was pounding, praying to whatever god would listen to keep him safe, for the realm's sake and her own sanity during these tumultuous times.

    "Is Pycelle in there?" she asked one of the guards.

    "Yes," he responded gruffly.

    "I'd like to be granted access, if you would," she said kindly.

    "No."

    "Yes," she responded. She raised her hand slightly and pointed it towards the door, which Ser Davyd promptly kicked inward with a loud crack.

    "You cannot just-" the guard objected.

    "Yes, I can," Jocasta answered, walking into the room and smiling at a startled Pycelle. She hadn't thought about the old man when she ordered it, so she was glad the man wasn't scared to death, literally.

    "Princess," he greeted in a creaky voice.

    Ned was lying still in the bed, his chest rising and falling steadily under the sheet. The linens were soaked with blood around the area covering his knee. She lifted the blanket up to see the grisly wound, blood pulsing from it with each beat of his heart.

    Pycelle was preparing the cast and ointments to cake the wound in before he covered and plastered it. Jocasta pulled up a chair and sat by Ned, taking his hand in hers. It was warm and damp, his face red from the fever he developed from the wound.

    Contrary to her mother's belief, she didn't love Ned. She didn't know why she grabbed his hand, only felt compelled to. She stared at the floor as her brain clouded and fogged, not allowing a thought to form. She mumbled something, but it was a jumble of words that didn't have any meaning. She was tired, it had been such a draining day already. Some sleepy thought that slipped through her lips.