Memories of better times (Jason)

[Robb Stark]

Robb sat in his tent after the battle at the whispering woods.  He could still see his friend kneeling at his fathers side.  Robb had known Lord Edric for most of his life and felt pain for his loss.  Especially so soon after his own fathers death.  Robb had valued the mans advice and their families had always been close.  Robb had left his friend to his grieving, knowing his own need for solitude after he found about his own fathers death.  But he didn't want to leave his friend to the pain on his own for to long.  

With a small sigh he stood, Grey Wind moving to his side as he walked out of the tent.  And headed through the camp, acknowledging those of his men who saw.  It was this that would have alerted Jason to Robb's presence before he carefully slipped into the tent, Grey Wind waiting outside so they would not be disturbed.  He took a seat beside his friend and placed the rum bottle he had grabbed in his travels between them.  "I am sorry, Jason.  Your father was a great man", Robb was at a lose for words all of a sudden now that he was here and rather faded back into silence again.  His mind went back over memories of both their fathers and better days spent at Winterfell.  When the war had started, they had both still been boys, but now they had both had to become men.  

Jason Wynter

[Jason Wynter]

Jason sat silently within the black tent that housed both Wynter men only a week before, pale eyes fixed upon the dark valyrian blade that sat upon his table, gleaming ghostly white in the candlelight, his mind raced as he sat, filled with violence and carnage, he could not forget what he had seen then, he could still taste the dirt and blood, still hear the screams and cries of men who lay wounded and dying. His gloved hands clutched as he recalled the battle, unwillingly, a memory flashed into his mind his father's remains, cast aside, filthy and bloody. His grip tightened at the thought, at least he took a lot of the enemy with him to see the gods, hopefully they would judge him righteously.

The boy could hear the muffled footsteps of someone approaching from by the entrance, however he continued to stare at the blade, it was probably one of his fath-... his men, telling him of more casualties and more wounded that succumbed to their wounds. however as the man entered the tent, Jason could here something else, the faint padding of paws on the ground, and he immediately knew who it was. Despite his mood, the boy's face lit up with a small grin, if only for a moment, he hadn't talked to Robb since the battle.

"I am sorry, Jason. Your father was a great man." 
Jason's eyes still affixed on the blade, he nodded solemnly, expressing his thanks, he noticed out of the corner of his eye that his friend and King had set a bottle down on the table beside them, one that looked surprisingly familiar, he recalled it belonging to a tavern they had passed on their way south, those had been good times, at least better than now. After a moment of silence, Jason began speaking, eyes still fixed on the blade.
"Thank you, Robb, I.... I'm sorry it had come to this. For the both of us." He chuckled sadly, shaking his head. "Look at us now, we're just two boys playing at war, like we did when we were little, only this time there's no one to call us back inside."  Jason realized how stupid he sounded, he was doubting the power of the entire North, something he would have never done had he been fully functioning. "You know," He began "I always knew I would inherit the family blade." Jason glared at the ancient sword, a symbol of power and until recently, in his eyes, hope and family. "Just not like this, not now." He hated feeling weak, he hated it more than anything in the world, but right now, he knew he needed all the help he could get.