open | prompt five | ENDINGS

[wrens]

prompt five | E N D I N G S dressing-room style. start your own thread. tag others. wash, rinse, repeat. open to all.

 

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jojen reed | asoiaf (excuse the icons sob)

[greensight]

[ There are things in this world that Jojen knows for certain; he feels them in their infinite coil in his mind (albeit not as strongly as others with a stronger inclination might), can even taste them in the air when it's at its crispest in the reach of dawn and the closing on dusk.

But death and the want for it has a spice to it, a tang that lingers on the tongue and a heat that scars the mind in ways no other force could. It's driven many men to the brink of madness and delivered them to their Gods just as swiftly. It's a flavor Jojen has no like for, but it is a necessity and eventually meets even the most illusive of tongues.

Death is something that inspires fear in the smallest of creatures, stagnates in both their visible two eyes and the ever hidden third most. But Jojen knows and so death is something he's almost taken for granted. He's seen it often enough.

Today is not the day I die, sister. ]

If it is meant to happen. [ Though, I have not seen it, an echo of a thought to dwarf the solemn and soft tone of his words. ]

[kah]

[ The skin of a woman but the heart of a crow, and with eyes that can see well beyond the all-seeing Sight. She has been called many names but none of those names are hers, save one, the name Mari — given to her by the boy Milen Seaborn out of duty and sincerity and love. Milen cannot see as Mari does, but when she covers his eyes with both her hands, sometimes he can; that is her gift. And at night, she whispers into Milen's ear dreams of the future and of the present and of the past. Tiny talons digging into the folded cloth of the blanket, her black wings casting a long shadow across his sleeping face. ]

If, he says. If, if. Do you not know. Can you not see?

[greensight]

[ The bristle of wings, a hitch in his thoughts as clear eyes meet the stranger. But is she truly a stranger? He's seen many a crow, but not all of them use their third eye. And if he looks, really looks with all of his eyes, he can almost see those wings he thought he heard. No, he knew he heard. With the dip in cadence of her words, so deliberate and catching, he knows she isn't a stranger. Such a Sight doesn't allow for unfamiliarity. ]

A mercy. [ One with a strange twist that causes him to purse his lips before he continues. ] I have seen and it is not so. Just a brush, a slip of a gaze, and no more. When it comes, it will be a path bereft of company.

[kah]

[ Her head, her black hair, her narrow shoulders (two rounds, as pale as the moon, as the whites of a dying man's eyes) give a shiver. A bird ruffling feathers, the creeping horrors. If she could, she would reach out and cover his eyes, would show him whatever future he wanted to see (visions, auguries, birdsign). But it is as the crowmother says: there are some paths that are best walked blind, there are some futures best not to stare in the face.

Besides, his fate lay with other crows, not her, not Mari. (Her name is not his.) ]

What a path, what a lonely path, seer. [ She quirks her head and her bright blue eyes begin to fill black, like ink leaking into a clear well. (A crow's eyes.) ] Crannogmen. The one they call Reed.

[ Mari blinks again, shivers again, and then her eyes are normal once more. ] Jojen.

[greensight]

[ The slow leak of her eyes doesn't startle him, his own clear green eyes watching the very much prompted change. He knows she's Seeing something but not what -- until she names him and something inside him shifts so very slightly. Unfamiliar curiosity colors his expression then, just barely coating the keen interest it's held all along. ]

Loneliness is perception. [ There's a downward tug of his lips, then, but it's brief. It is a lonely path, but requesting company isn't an option. He won't be taking anyone with him when the time comes. He knows this.

And so he deflects to sate that curiosity instead. When he speaks again, there's no judgment. ] You're a crow, a crow in a woman's skin -- not a warg, though, and you've the Sight.

[ A low hum. Jojen's seen a lot, but she... she's something else. ] I've not Seen you, but I can See your feathers. They're glossy, black, and smooth -- I can hear them.