5 Shimmering Scarlet

It was easy to get lost in the magic of Winterfell's godswood.

The air was always dense with the rich tasting air made possible by the long-established plant life.

Joe led Meera through the wood.

Light. Light as a feather. Light of the moon seeping through each crack between the leaves. A gentle wind swaying the branches in a bobbing rhythm.

Even the daftest of fools could feel the sacredness of this place. At the heart of it was that great Weirwood. It stood tall, many branches spreading from its base, crisscrossing their way up to the sky. This was a heart tree like no other.

Beside that heart tree was a small pond, obtuse and no more than 4 meters long. The heat danced on top of the water in a cloud of condensation. Coiling waves of smoke gliding with nonchalance.

Each element of this place had a personality. Each tree. Each puff of smoke. Each sound made as the wind passed by. Everything was a discussion in and of itself. Thoughts bounced against the surfaces. Quaking, humming, drilling. If you allowed your mind to relax, you could admit to the song of nature. A song that welcomed you home. Mother earth's massage that rubs at your bones.

"Beautiful," Meera said in awe.

"I know you are." Joe cheekily replied, practically skipping as he held her hand and led the way.

The ground they walked upon was soft, with layers upon layers of fallen leaves and mossy grass. It felt squishy and therapeutic to walk on. And if you were to crouch down and place your hand on the ground, you would find it rather warm.

It wasn't a leisurely stroll through the wood. Joe kept a power-walking pace, giggling as Meera struggled to keep up and was tugged along. Yet through it all, she didn't let go of Joe's hand.

She wouldn't dare. Her hand fit in his so perfectly, the conch shell and the sea snail that were made for each other. Meera was tough and hardy, a faithful rendition of the crannogmen princess. This kind of movement was nothing. Not for a girl like her.

And besides, she was laughing too much to voice any complaints.

They made their way around the pond, now before the Weirwood tree in all its glory.

It was a nice clearing in front of that Weirwood.

Next to it, between itself and the small pond, was a tree stump. This was Lord Starks special seat. He would often come to the godswood and sit here to sharpen his blade and clear his mind.

Joe took a deep breath. A sweet nectar made each inhale oh so enjoyable. A sort of primal relief swept over him like the warm blanket for the survivor of a plane crash in the creaky mid-winter. A hot cup of cocoa and someone telling you it's all going to be okay.

Joe ran his hand down the weirwood tree, its smooth streaks ran against his palms, and Joe could feel how his fingerprints collided with the grains.

['Not too different, you and I'] Joe tried to communicate with his mind, ['Yet we experience things differently. You can live forever if undisturbed. Your white trunks and red leaves can always be present. Time is different for you.]

['Yet I wonder. Do you ever curse your immortality?']

"This Weirwood is Winterfell itself." Joe said, glancing back at Meera, the cool breeze in his hair, "Its roots run deep and coddle the castle as a mother would her baby. Yet, even so, its roots never disturbed the crypts. Thousands of years, and not once have the roots pierced through its walls. It's as if the tree *knows* the crypts are there."

Joe almost got lost in his fascination. All his life, he had been coming to this heart tree and contemplating its essence. But now wasn't the time to nerd out about trees. He had a gorgeous lady in front of him. He needed to do something cool and manly.

['Quick. Think. James Bond. You're charming like James Bond!']

"Come feel it," Joe said, running his hand down the heart tree and feeling the edges of the face carved into it. "You'll see what I mean."

['Better than nothing!']

'Feel what?' Meera thought, eying Joe up and down, his athletic buttocks round and hard. Was he tensing it on purpose, or was it always that voluptuous?

As she let her eyes wander and saw the falling leaves of the Weirwood, five-pointed and red-blooded, she could feel some kind of natural pull. Like a bird migrating north. Magnetic energy pushing her in a direction.

Meera did what she was told. She approached the tree slowly, with a hesitance unexplained~

A whisper could be heard at the bottom of her spine. Closer, closer, and closer still. Inch by inch, she prowled. Until someone once again took her by the hand.

"It's not gonna bite," Joe smiled, his warm hands guiding hers along the grains, "You see what I mean, though, right?"

"Mmm. I think I do." Replied Meera, unable to avert her gaze from Joe's moonlit amber eyes.

Joe pretended not to notice, "I knew you would," he said, slipping his fingers into the spaces between hers.

Meera seized the opportunity and tightened her hand. She could feel the blood squeezing into Joe's fingertips, "Oh, that's right. I was going to answer your question."

"I had a question?" Joe teased, facing Meera and slyly taking hold of her other hand, "I seem to have forgotten."

The wind blew and leaves spiraled in loop-d-loops. Meera stood on her tippy toes and planted her soft lips onto his, nipping and lustful. Its tenderness lulling Joe's surprised eyelids to feel heavy until they closed under the weight of romance.

"Remember now?" she whispered, pulling back slowly and admiring her handy work. The timing of that kiss. And that line afterwards.., She couldn't help but give herself a little Westerosi equivalent of a 'you go girl!'.

When Joe opened his eyes, he was smiling from ear to ear, "That's still not an answer, you know. It wouldn't be the first time a pretty lady kissed an ugly guy at a party out of pity."

Meera rolled her eyes. She could tell Joe took pleasure out of acting like an idiot and watching her reaction. It had developed into a little game that neither of them formally acknowledged, but both knew what was going on, "Fine." She smiled, licking her teeth seductively, "Yes, I think you're attractive."

"Hmmm," Joe hummed deeply, hypnotic and relaxing, like a cat's purr, "You said it better the first time. Think I can ask the question once more?"

"You can ask as many times as you want."

The two kissed again. Again and again. Their reflections shimmered on the pond. Direwolves howled to the sky as the occasional leaf of the weirwood fell from its branches like snowflakes of blood-red scarlet.

At that moment, under the watch of the gods, time stood still, and two bodies became one. With each touch, their understanding of one another grew until they drank from the chalice of cupid.

Like those we meet in our dreams. The kind of familiarity you remember deeply in the initial moments after waking up. You long to return to that dream. To that person. That tremendous sense of belonging.

You promise never to forget that feeling they gave to you in that timeless space, only for their memory to fade during that same day as you go about your waking life.

Next time, you tell yourself. Next time you won't forget~

After it was done, Meera and Joe lay under the heart tree, her hand tracing the many scars on Joe's chest, her face nuzzled into his neck. Each exhale sent a tickling probe to his collarbone. They clung to each other with possessive claws. If this was a dream, they would hold on as tightly as possible. So tightly, as if they might bring the other with them once they woke up.

"So many scars," Meera said, her voice soft as her touch, "What's this one from?"

The scar in question was a five-lined slash that started from his top right chest and ran down to his lower left, just below the last rib.

"A bear," Joe said, closing his eyes forcefully as if to shut out the memory, "Sensei always warned me about the dangers of stumbling onto a Mamma bear's territory as she raised her cubs. 'When that happens,' he would say to me. 'Make sure your aim is fast, and your aim is true. Otherwise, you're fooked.'.. "

He spoke over Meera's giggling, "It's amazing how someone can drill into you all the signs of danger to look out for, only for you to ignore them all the same. But I tell you what. When you're staring into the eyes of a Mamma bear ready to rip your head off to protect her children, you quickly pledge to never forget again."

"So what happened?" Meera asked quickly. She was starting to grasp how Joe liked to tell stories and communicate. It was endearing in a way. He wanted to trail off into mysterious imagery, building up the climax he would avoid revealing until the very end or not at all. It would be nice if he sped it up sometimes. So without knowing it, Meera started spurring him along. A woman who knows what she wants, grooming her man to her parameters.

"It was traumatizing. I turned to the sound of a twig snapping and found myself faced with a mamma bear of epic proportions, standing on her hind legs. I knew time was of the essence. I managed to get a couple of shots off, but the bitches skin was tough, and my failed shots only served to anger her. She charged at me, caring not for the arrows sticking out her chest and shoulders."

Joe shuddered and shook, "One clean swipe was all it took. I felt the deep gash immediately. I'll never forget that searing pain across my chest. It was warm at first, almost soothing. Then the agony started kicking in. I dropped to my knees, watching as the beast reared again and lunged its jaws. My face about to get eaten."

"I said my last words there and then. Closed my eyes, resigned to my fate. I thought I saw a black mass from the corner of my eye. But death did not come for me. The next thing I saw when I finally opened my eyes again was the mamma bear on the ground, with Void's teeth puncturing its neck."

"Your Shadowcat." Meera asserted, her hand brushing against Joe's washboard abs, still wet with the sweaty aftermath of their lovemaking.

"My friend." Joe corrected. He was never a fan of the owner-pet dynamic. We're all sentient beings at the end of the day. "My best friend."

Meera propped herself up, resting her head in her hand and running her finger up and down Joe's stomach. She started noticing many scars now. She wondered about each story behind them.

Bites, scratches, and marks man-made.

"This is from an arrow." Meera said, feeling the scar on Joe's right shoulder, "And here," she said, kissing at a slash along his lower stomach, "A sword."

"Mmm." Joe hummed seriously. He stroked at Meera's shoulder blade as he gazed up at the clear sky, an array of stars shining and twinkling, "Trouble would arise, now and then. Ironborn raiding the shores along the bay of ice, rouge war bands from the mountain tribes terrorizing the common folk, the odd gang of wildlings looking to steal some southern wives."

"I didn't let those opportunities go to waste. There was only so much I could learn from swinging my sword in the air and hunting animals. After a little convincing, Sensei would reluctantly accompany me. It was then that I killed my first man. Then, when I learned how soft our bodies are. We weren't made for fighting, of that, I'm sure. Our hands are deft for artful purposes."

Joe took Meera's teasing hand and kissed her wrist, "For writing stories and touching skin."

Meera couldn't help but feel warm and giggly, "You talk a lot when your balls are empty," she purred.

Then, Joe could sense the hour drawing near, "We should head back inside." He said, putting on his trousers and tying their laces, "Tonight marks the beginning of the craziness that will shape the rest of our lives. Would be poor form if I were to fuck it up."

The two got dressed and held hands as they returned to the Great Hall. Their skin glowed, radiating with ecstasy. Electricity passed through the air with each moment of eye contact.

The party was dwindling now. Many had retired for the evening. But King Robert continued. Jojen noticed Meera and Joe holding hands and smirked at his sister knowingly.

Gage and the few dozen that helped in the kitchen had come out, enjoying that post-shift alcoholic beverage that hospitality workers know all too well.

"Joe!" They all exclaimed, beckoning him with accomplished faces, "Come have a drink with us!"

"Don't mind if I do, ya bastards!" Joe said, holding a mug of ale in the air, "A toast to you lot. This feast would have been shite without your hard work. King Robert, take a moment to thank these hard-working people!"

After 17 years of being king, Robert struggled to search for a memory of him thanking the servants that made them all possible. But now, looking at Joe, Gage, and the rest, all happy and relieved to have managed a feast for 600+ people, he couldn't help but say the words.

"Of course, of course!" He said magnanimously, "A toast! The best damn feast this king has ever had the pleasure of attending, all thanks to you!"

Gage slapped the table and raised his drink high, "Here here!"

And with that, everyone chinked their mugs.

One last nightcap to end the evening.

But before that, Joe had one final childish antic up his sleeve.

"Oi oi, your grace." He said, the foam of the ale making a mustache on Joe's upper lip.

"Hmm?" King Robert acknowledged, "What is it?"

"… I dare you to eat that apple that was in Tyrion's ass crack."

"Seven hells!" King Robert scanned the area and found the apple in question. It was on the ground, with brown splotches on its skin.

"One hundred gold dragons to anyone who eats that apple!"

***

Dawn came, and the stench of last night's happenings mixed itself with the vapor of the morning dew.

"Rough night, imp?"

Sandor Clegane and Tyrion Lannister sat next to each other on wooden steps by the chicken coop.

Clegane and Prince Joffrey had found Tyrion asleep in the kennels, with Vera the black bloodhound keeping him warm.

Tyrion was still seeing in fuzzy images, his head pounding with a headache. "If I get through this without squirting from one end or the other it'll be a miracle."

"How's the arse?"

"I don't want to talk about it.."

Tyrion was scratching the head of Vera, who sat on the step below Tyrion, wagging her tail. She watched Sandor Clegane put on his boots like it was some kind of game. She was waiting for Clegane to throw his boots or something.

Sandor Clegane was laughing on the inside, but he answered seriously, "I didn't pick you for a hunter."

"I'm the greatest in the land; my spear never misses."

Ever eager to call out pompous high lordly bullshit, Clegane said, "It's not hunting if you paid for it."

The courtyard was a buzz with the clopping of horse hooves and the strapping noises of men readying their gear.

King Robert was fresh as a daisy as he rode up to Lord Stark. You'd never think King Robert was minutes fresh from a raging drink session.

Theon Greyjoy was handing Lord Stark his hunting gloves when King Robert greeted his old friend good morning, "Are you as good with the spear as you used to be?"

Lord Stark smirked, "No, but I'm still better than you."

"Hahahaha," King Robert laughed. He had that genuine kind of smile you couldn't fake. The variety done with both the mouth and the eyes. His love for Ned was poured into that smile. "I know what I'm putting you through. Thank you for saying yes."

King Robert looked to his future hand of the king with a matter of fact, "I only ask you because I need you. You're a loyal friend. You hear me? A loyal friend. The last one I got."

Lord Stark breathed out deeply, resigned to his fate. He would prefer to spend the rest of his days here in the north. He should have declined King Robert's proposal. But duty wouldn't allow it.

"I hope I'll serve you well." Lord Stark said, the soldier in him beginning to brush the dust from his shoulders.

"You will. And I'll make sure you don't look so fucking grim all the time."

"Pff-"

"Anyhow," King Robert looked around, "Where is Joe? Joe! Hurry up! Let's go kill some boar!"

King Robert wasn't going to wait. If Joe was too green and couldn't handle his drink, then maybe he wasn't the man King Robert thought he was. Even Tyrion was up at em for the hunt. Yet the party animal young lad is nowhere to be found?

King Robert shook his head and tried to move past his disappointment. He rode through the gates of Winterfell, his eyes keen on the road, the Wolfswood in the distance looking so enticing as Robert fantasized about the coming hunt.

But alas, Robert's meditative happiness was to be rudely interrupted. The hunting party was only 30 minutes ride out of Winterfell when a rider came speeding up behind them.

"My king! My King!" The rider called, "Your grace, Lord Stark! You both must return to the castle at once. The castle is in a stir!"

Lord Stark recognized the rider- a young man part of the castle garrison, "What is it, Orel?"

The young Orel's face was drenched in urgency, "Come quick! Joe has gone mad!"

"What is it? What's happening? Speak, boy!" King Robert commanded.

"It's Joe m'lord! He and Ser Jaime, they.."

Tyrion and Sandor Clegane blinked extra hard. Did they hear that correctly?

Lord Stark and King Robert's eyes opened wide. They looked at each other in disbelief, and they spurred into action in an instant.

"Yah! Yah!" their horses galloped at the call.

"I hope you can still ride like you used to!" King Robert joked to Lord Stark as they made haste toward Winterfell.

"I feel sorry for your horse with all that weight!" Lord Stark spat back in reply.

"Hahaha! Alright then, lets race back. What do you say, Ned?" The King challenged.

'What the hell?' Ned thought, 'This is not the time for jests. What am I doing?'

"You're on."

It was strange. He didn't know why, but a carefree spirit had overcome him as of late. Maybe seeing his friend again brought back this spontaneity in Ned, despite severe implications?

Robert felt it too. It wasn't even 48 hours since he arrived in Winterfell, but everything felt different. It was like he was exploring life again.

Yes, that's it: exploration and adventure. Experiencing new things. To live in the moment, pleasantly serene, joyfully wondering what vibrancy the world might throw at you next.

They made it back to Winterfell just in time. Ned won the race, of course.

"Father!" Arya came running, "Quick!"

She didn't have to tell him. As he dismounted, Lord Stark saw the crowd gathered in the courtyard.

Lady Catelyn and Sansa watched from rafters, maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik to their side.

One glimpse of eye contact that Lord Stark had with his wife, and he could infer the kind of shit storm that was about to transpire.

A circle of people had formed in the courtyard, creating an arena of sorts.

In one corner, with his Prince Charming-like golden hair and shining breastplate, Ser Jaime prepared himself, unsheathing his blade and putting on his helmet.

Queen Cersei looked at him seriously, "Don't lose." She commanded.

Ser Jaime scoffed, "I don't intend to."

In the other corner, Robb and Jon were uneasy.

"This is madness, brother. Even for you." Robb tried to argue.

"You're always like this!" Jon erupted, "Why are you always like this?!"

Sensei rolled his eyes, "Because he's a dumb cunt, that's why."

Joe couldn't help but laugh at the resistance his crew was sending his way, "Jeez. Keep your pants on, will you?"

Joe then winked at Bran, who was holding Joe's bastard sword out like a noble squire.

"But why aren't you using your spear?" Bran asked, knowing how deadly Joe is with it

"Because Jaime is known as a swordsman. If he's going in with the sword, so shall I."

Bran couldn't help but look at Joe queerly, "You could at least use your shield.."

Joe scoffed, "Were you even listening?"

*SHING!*

The glimmer of metal being unleashed rang in the courtyard. Joe held his sword to his side, the sun reflecting off the blade. The loose sleeves of his comfortable white shirt flowed vacantly in the breeze. His dark trousers and boots, those poised steps mockingly advancing.

Ser Jaime glared at his opponent through his helmet-impaired vision. His armored attire was in striking contrast to Joe's exposed regalia.

Joe and Ser Jaime met in the middle of the circle. The crowd was looking on. No one understood the meaning behind this sudden duel, yet no one wanted to stop it.

"You sure you don't need some time to stretch, old man?" Joe asked mockingly.

Ser Jaime twitched his brow with anger, but managed to catch himself before showing anything. "On your move." He confidently answered, pointing his sword toward Joe.

At this moment, Void nudged Hodor into the middle of the circle and between the two combatants.

"Hodor?" Hodor said, looking around with no clue whatsoever.

"Fooks sakes.." Theon Greyjoy came forward, "Out of the way!" He said, pushing Hodor, "I'll do it!"

Theon Greyjoy then positioned himself, raised his arms and shouted~

"FIGHT!"

Theon Greyjoy then bolted out of the way.

By the time he turned around again, Ser Jaime and Joe were already engaged in a clash of swords.