#At least his breathe will be the freshest in the capital

[cannibalcreeps]

How does Mortas see through that mask????

Atom works hard to keep this man alive

[muffincactus]

The Oath | 3

A sad golden ankle guard

A particular encounter on the ship and the beginning of your new life in Kashbah. Even if it all seems like a dream, reality strikes when you least expect it.

Pairing: Warrior!Jimin x Healer!Reader

Genre: Angst, Violence, Fluff, Greek Mithology, (eventual) Smut, Enemy to Lovers (au), Historical (au), Fantasy (au).

Words: 3.8k

Y/N: As promised, here you go with the third chapter! Our Jiminie made his appearance and I was so unsure how to describe him, what kind of personality give him at the beginning and what role but, after some thinking, I decided for this. We have just finished a long war and Y/N is a slave so, for the first appearance, I decided this was the best choice. Tell me what you think and always a HUGE thank you for your support. Love you <3

P.S.:I am already writing the fourth but I am not sure when I will publish it, I need to settle the story and to correct it, so please be patient! I will start also studying for my exams but I will try to keep a one-chapter-a-week if I can!

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

When Jimin woke up, he found himself in a ship, lulled by the movements of the waves. Probably, it was night because he could not hear anything or anyone, only the rumor of the sea, the creaking of the wood and the snoring of the other soldiers. When he tried to move, he felt a stinging pain from his thigh and stopped: he pulled away the sheet and saw cleaned bandages and a strong smell of herbs. A piece of wet cloth fell down from his forehead: it was probably used to lower his fever, he felt sticky and tired. The last thing he remembered was the battlefield full of Kashbah’s soldiers. They were trying to breach the main gate of Nereidya to win this infinite war, protecting themselves from the arrows, the rocks and the scorching tar that the Nereidyan guards threw on them. He can remember clearly well the moment in which the wood of the gate collapsed and the sensation of victory that spread in his body: finally, he could avenge the death of his mother, he could make his father more proud of him. But, suddenly, he felt a sharp pain in his thigh and when he looked down, he found a poisoned arrow in the flesh of his leg. Yoongi and Hoseok were beside him and, when they saw the scene, they immediately took him away from the battlefield: Nereidyan poison was one of the most lethal venoms existing and they absolutely needed to save the only Prince of their nation. But, because of the panic that took them, they did not see the rock that one of the guards threw at them: it landed on Jimin’s head and he passed away.

He groaned and closed his eyes, letting his head returning on the pillow and trying to lull himself to sleep again until he felt someone taking the bandage and putting it again on his forehead. He suddenly opened his eyes to see who was taking care of him, the previous healer died from what he knew, and he saw the figure of a tired girl, with quite short hair very different from the fluent dark hair of the Kashbyan girls, big rounded eyes that peered at him coldly but professionally and deep circles under her eyes. She was not a breath-taking beauty but to see a gentle face after only images of fighting and blood was always a welcoming view. However, it did not last long: when she put on him the sheet again, he saw her Nereidyan earring and the feeling of rage that became his companion from his mother’s death invaded his body. He clenched his jaw and abruptly sat up while glaring at her from the most profound fury of his soul.

“Don’t you dare touch me.” With a cold and angry voice, he yanked her hands away. His breathing was fast, with dilated nostrils, his hands were twitching as if he was trying not to kill her. She froze immediately, turning her head and looking at him a little surprised but she understood completely, he spoke in Nereidyan.

“Excuse me?” she asked quite confused.

“Are you deaf? I said, don’t you dare touch me. Who told you to cure me? Where is Seokjin?”

She glared a little at him and crossed her arms on her stomach. And that behavior made him more irritated than ever. “No, I am not deaf, thank you so much. I am a professional healer that was instructed to cure you all and Seokjin will come back in a minute. Can you please avoid doing such abrupt movements? Your wound is healing and I would really like not to begin from the start with that.”

He cocked his eyebrow: not only she was a filthy Nereidyan, she spoke to him as if he was a mere peasant. What the hell. “You are ordering me? You are a slave, know your place. You filthy Nereidyans should lose this attitude if you do not want to be punished as the low slaves you are.” At his words, he saw her eyes harden and her lips twitching as if she wanted to say something but she decided to restrain herself. Really, he couldn’t find in him a single trace of guilt for what he said: Nereidyans deserved all of this, they betrayed his reign and killed his mother. The Gods decided for the victory of the Kashbyan and there was anything else to say.

In that moment, Seokjin entered in the room and immediately saw him: he sprinted towards him and smiled the brightest of his smile.

“Oh, thank God! You know, when they took you with that arrow, I felt my heart exploding from fear of losing you too!” he said, while checking on him. Jimin smiled at him.

“You always are so dramatic, you know that it is not easy for me to die. It was only an arrow, I bet you could remove it without any problem.”

Seokjin became a little embarrassed, touching his neck. “You know… For the wound in your head, I managed but she was the one who took the arrow away. If it was for me, you would have already died.” At that words, Jimin turned to her and looked a little at her features. But he only felt rage at the view of her face, so he turned to Seokjin.

“Let’s pretend it was you.” He said and Seokjin looked at her a little pained.

You huffed and indicated with a gesture of your head the soldier. “He asked for you, from now own, he is in your charge. He does not want me to touch him.” And then, she walked away to check the other patients. Jimin continued to observe the girl as if he was controlling a feral beast that entered in his room.

“Why do we need a Nereidyan healer, for God’s sake? Don’t we have Kashbyan healers?” he grumbled to Seokjin, clearly displeased by the situation. The latter observed briefly Y/N doing her job and sighed, turning to Jimin.

“Jimin, I understand your feelings but please, always remember that the common people do not have anything to do with the incidents between reigns. She is a skilled healer, she helped me with all the soldiers and she saved your life… I do not say to be grateful but, at least, let her check on you, she knows her job.”

“No. She is Nereidyan, that is enough for me to keep distances.” He said and with that, he laid down to rest a little until they reached Kashbah.

It was Nereidya’s fault in the first chance if this war happened: he left his home to fight this battle because his mother was killed by a stupid Neridyan prince that he never liked. He lost many comrades, friends and brothers, others were wounded or disappeared. How could he take pity on a Nereidyan healer? Yes, she cured him but it was her job. Now she was a slave and she must behave as one. No more, no less.

 When the ship reached Kashbah, it was in the middle of the day. The capital was a huge city called Myenah, centre of the economical and political life of the reign. It was said that in Myenah, you could find whatever object you desired: precious silk from Naaneh, pearls and precious stones from Phontos, spicy food from Ymir and, when Nereidya still existed, the most valuable Nereidyan gold. It attracted merchants from all the reigns and this helped the finances of the Crown that used all this wealth to pay for the military campaigns. You looked at that city made of many buildings in a typical Kashbyan style: from little houses of dark wood used by the commoners, to the most luxurious houses of the noble people made of stone and high pointed roofs, to the Imperial zone, with its striking dimensions and presence. The castle was in a higher position than the rest of the city to differentiate itself and it was surrounded by high walls that protected it from possible attacks. It was a luxurious prison in which the most important people of Kashbah organized the reign and decided for it. It was there that a Nereidyan prince committed a crime, there where it all started.

After you arrived at the port, you helped the soldiers with most difficulties and then, you took all the necessary to disembark and start this new life. During the voyage, Seokjin became quite chatty and you started to relax a little more but you knew yourself: the worst part had yet to come and, until you knew your official mansion, you would not be relaxed at all. While you were observing the constant movement of the port market with fishers that were selling the freshest fish and buyers that were discussing on the prices, Namjoon came near you and Seokjin.

“Where are the other women?” You asked looking behind Namjoon’s shoulders: you did not see them since you left Nereidya. You did not felt threatened by Namjoon so it was easier to ask him some information.

“They are being divided right now and we will let them work in different areas. You need to come with us to the Imperial Palace: our most skilled healer died in the battle and probably, you will be asked to help there.” He said and started to walk in direction of the palace, followed by you and Seokjin.

Your life has always turned around your role since you were thirteen years old: when you started to learn the profession of the healer, you dedicated body and soul at it. The only people who could travel were the merchants and you remembered very well their stories on these magical travels in exotic cities and far away reigns that used to tell to the children. And, even if they were a little exaggerated, you could find the same things in your imagination while observing Myenah: people busy trying to sell you all the types of goods, merchants talking of the latest news, women that washed the clothes in the near wells, children that played in the middle of the streets, beggars in the darkest points. It was refreshing to see a city so lived after three years of war but also heartbreaking while thinking to Nereidya. In the past, your reign too was beautiful and lived.

When you reached the castle, the guard opened the gate and let you enter in the Palace’s gardens. It was breathtaking: tall pines and camphor trees that with their magnificent foliage created shadows under which the nobles could delight themselves with painting and reading; cherry trees near the pond in the middle of the garden that in spring would paint the water and the corridors of little pink petals; beautiful red camellias that gave a bright red to the landscape and maple trees. Now, you understood why they described the Palace’s gardens as “Zeus’ favorite place”. The route to the throne room was long but it did allow you to see a little of this huge palace made of wood: the structure was divided in groups of little houses linked by external corridors that looked at those magnificent gardens and let you admire the nature while walking through them. The chambers were divided by their function: the main places in which politicians and powerful men usually discussed with the king about the reign were around the throne room followed by other rooms in which the women and the young noble would play and relax. In the second level, there were the private rooms of the king, the queen, his concubines and the prince and then, in the third level, the most external, there were the rooms for the servants, kitchens and bathrooms. It seemed like walking through a unified place, there was no distinction between the walls and the nature and you could not escape easily from this structure. You reached the throne room after passing seven different gates heavily guarded by warriors. They opened the doors and, finally, you entered.

The king was seated in the opposite side of the doors, surrounded by men and guards. The room was immense, with typical Kashbyan vertical hanging scrolls on the walls, precious celadon ceramics and a carved wooden throne. The branches of the roof and the pillars that supported the structure were painted with different colors, from red, to white, to yellow, to black and green. It all displayed the power and the wealth of this reign.

Namjoon walked for a while and then bowed to the king, you stayed behind and Seokjin reached the other men that you saw with Namjoon before. They seemed to be very close with each other.

“Namjoon-ah! We finally won the war and destroyed Nereidya, all thanks to you and your counselors. You are all loyal Kashbyan, you make me very proud.” He spoke proudly and fiercely from his position on the throne. He was a thin man, but his presence was overwhelming: he could make the hugest man bow to him with an only look of his almond-shaped piercing eyes.

“You are too gentle, Your Majesty. It was your son’s good intuition that helped win this war. He is a very capable prince.” And the King laughed, flattered by the compliments he always heard about his son.

“Speaking of him, I heard from Yoongi and Hoseok that he was shot with a poisoned arrow but they cured him well. Who was that saved my son’s life? I want to thank him.”

In that moment, you felt your heart started skyrocketing. Not only for the king’s question but also for the realization that the man you cured from the arrow was the Crown prince and you even glared at him on the ship. Now, you felt panic raising in your throat: would the Prince tell the King your behavior? Also, the Prince was cured by a Nereidyan, a person of the same reign that caused the war, that killed the King’s wife. You were screwed, you felt it under your skin.

Namjoon turned slightly to you and made a gesture with his head to reach him. You started walking but you felt like a wooden block from the fear and, when you reached Namjoon, you prostrated on the floor.

“She is a Nereidyan healer that we found when we conquered the reign. She is very skilled and she cured the prince and all the other soldiers.”

Ice, thick as a the same that covers the water of the lakes in Nereidyan winter, fell down in the crown room.

“A Nereidyan healer…?” the king asked while looking at your prostrated form. Your golden earring was a proof of your provenience, there were no doubts. “You are telling me that a Nereidyan healer, the same who killed my wife, put her hand on my son, the crown prince?”

Namjoon felt his throat tighten. He knew that, in the moment when he asked for your help, convincing the King of your role would be a very hard task. “Yes. Our healer died and it would have been useless to call someone from Kashabah, it would not have made it in time. The prince was touched by Nereidyan poison, we all know that it would have caused the Prince’s death. I am mortified by having taken this decision without Your Majesty’s previous approval but it was a question of life and death for the Crown Prince” he said while bowing deeply.

The king listened in silence and stood up from the throne. He reached you and stayed in front of your form. “Stand up.”

God, please, if he wants to kill me, let him kill me right away.

You felt your body moving so slowly that you couldn’t understand if you were moving at all, your breathing faster for the fear with your eyes casted on the floor. He took your chin and raised your head while scrutinizing your face with piercing eyes.

“From who did you learn?”

You gulped, your throat was dry like the desert of Naneen, and spoke. “From Master Yaweh of Nereidya, Your Majesty.”

“Master Yaweh, huh? He was pretty famous even here in Kashbah for his knowledge but also for his… strange behavior. He did not accept disciples, so I assume you need to be very skilled to be welcomed by him.”

“I do not know if I am so skilled, I do only what they ask me to do, Your Majesty.” You answered.

He laughed a little and released your chin, your head lowering immediately. “You know, the rules would make me execute you for having touched my son but I cannot let go a Yaweh’s disciple. I owe him and he is the only Nereidyan I cannot bring myself to hate.” He said while returning to the throne with his hand clasped behind his back, as if lost in deep thoughts.

“You will work in the Imperial hospital here in the palace. But remember, just a false step and you will be executed.”

You bowed again. “Yes, Your Majesty. Thank you for the opportunity.” Maybe, just maybe, Apollo was still protecting you.

 After you were dismissed by the king, you were conducted by Seokjin to your quarters in the imperial hospital: they were near the vegetable garden and the kitchen quarters. Seokjin also explained to you where you could find the bathrooms for the servants and he gave to you a golden rigid ankle guard carved with the animal emblem of Kashbah, the dragon. The ankle bracelets were used by all the slaves to differentiate them from the other people and the material designated both your provenience and whose slave you were: the most precious materials were used, of course, by the most important families of the reign. Yours was golden as Nereidya and precious because you were a servant of the Imperial Palace. When you reached the bathroom, you undressed, threw away the worn-put linen dress and entered in the warm and perfumed waters. You sighed, embraced your knees and put you head on your arms while the water slowly caressed your tired form. In the past four days, everything changed completely for you and the others.

How are they? Are they safe? Are they being treated humanely? For who will they need to work? And, will you ever see them again?

Too many questions, your head was spinning. It is never easy to adapt to the changes and they happened so fast that your mind still could not comprehend what had happened. First, the Prince with his arrogant attitude on the ship, then the King and the debt he has with Master… You just couldn’t relax, not right now, not after only four days. So, you started to scrub the dirt away with a sponge and to wash you short hair; you needed to get out to examine your hospital. The ankle bracelet that you put on you tinkled sadly in the water, as if it was tired himself of reflecting the light of a reign that no more existed.

[tundrafoot]

An ‘Actual’ Guide to Western Kyushu Pt. 2

So my first (or technically second) guide was about Kyushu as a whole, and I’m so glad folks found it useful! 

This time around, I wanted to focus on my home prefecture, Nagasaki! So put on your reading caps and let’s がんばらんば！

What’s Nagasaki at a glance?

Hills.

Water.

Islands.

That’s about it.

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

But in all seriousness, Nagasaki (translating to long cape in English) is a prefecture filled with beautiful hills, sparkling sea, and plenty of islands. Although I don’t use Nagasaki’s airport often, the first time I flew in, the view was stunning. You see this gorgeous bay below you, and it feels like you’re about to land on water.

(courtesy of the Nagasaki airport website)

Hills  

The reason I joke about hills is because I both love and hate them. You can get in a lot of hiking and exploring, and you can always count on getting the most picture-perfect landscape photo. I mean, Mt. Inasa in Nagasaki city has one of the top night views in Japan. And then there is Mt. Unzen, a dormant volcano that is also home to a few onsen towns.  

However, during let’s say… peak summer, those hills and slopes aren’t so enjoyable to climb up on your way to your apartment or school. And when you’re driving, some of those mountain paths can be so narrow that can’t help but curse under your breath while simultaneously praying that your car doesn’t stall or fall of the ledge.

But it’s a worth it.

Water

On one side of the prefecture is mountains and hills, but the other side is water. Ocean. Sea as far as the eye can… see. And that’s what makes Nagasaki so beautiful. How can you not feel your heart pitter-patter a bit when you’re driving (or taking the train) along the coastline? I’m a water kid. As long as there is a body of water within reasonable distance, I’m as happy as a clam.

Although I beaches might not compare to Okinawa, there are still some real treasures. And the water is the perfect temperature. I will admit though, if you’re a freshwater kid like me, the sea creatures you encounter might take some getting used to. For example, I learned that I am afraid of being stung by a jellyfish. And stepping on sea urchins.  I have yet to do either, but I still fear it. On the plus side, this also means some of the freshest seafood around. During one of our ensokus (school hikes), one of the teachers brought his fishing gear for the students to use. One of the kids managed to catch a fish and could bring it home to cook! So, the sea might be scary, but it’s also tasty.

Islands

Nagasaki not only has the most islands in comparison to any other prefecture, but we also have the most inhabited islands. So much so that many teachers are expected to do a stint on an island at one point during their career. Which also means that as an ALT, your placement might be on an island as well. But don’t take that as a bad thing. The islands have the prefecture’s most beautiful beaches and some incredibly unique history.

So I’ve given you a pretty decent look at the topography and climate of Nagasaki, but obviously it’s so much more than just that.

 Okay, so what else is so cool about it?

Nagasaki is unique in a lot of ways because of it’s history as being the gateway to Japan. A lot of what we consider to be ‘Nagasaki culture’ comes from our trade with the Dutch, Chinese, and Portuguese. Our local foods include castella, a sponge cake brought over from Portugal in the 16th century, and champon, a noodle dish made by a Chinese restaurant owner during the Meiji era.

If you’re into Christian history, then Nagasaki has several of the oldest churches in Japan and many of them became part of the UNESCO World Heritage List in 2018. This is all a part of the ‘Hidden Christians’, who were persecuted during the 16th century. Even if you’re not particularly religious, they’re still cool buildings to visit and learn about. And if you are religious (and specifically Christian), then chances are you’ll be able to find a church where you can attend services.

Of course, one of the biggest historical events (and most tragic), would be the Atomic Bombing during WWII, which we hold a memorial every year at the Peace Park in August. Other things I learned about living here was that there were also several air raids around the prefecture. My city of Sasebo has a moment of silence every year right before the summer holiday. One of my schools also has a historical site right beside it; a secret cave that was used as both a hospital and school after the school in the area was bombed.

While this isn’t specific to Nagasaki prefecture, if you like Taisho era architecture, you’ll also get a chance to see some impressive tunnels and buildings. Some of my favorites are the Hario radio transmitters and the old Hyuga Tunnel.

This is just a glance at what is fascinating about the area as a whole. Once you get here, you’ll start to get a feel for the even finer details. Honestly, it feels like every town has their own little bit of history, so I urge you to talk to the locals in your area to learn even more.

Okay, now that you have an overview of the prefecture, I’ll try to give you a bit of a taste of what to expect in your city!

 I’m moving to Nagasaki City

Capital of the prefecture and the biggest city with the most ALTs in the prefecture. When I complain about hilly drives and narrow streets, Nagasaki City takes the gold. But obviously, there is more to this port city than just that. Nagasaki City is great if you’re interested in history. They have a number of historical buildings, museums and monuments scattered around the city that are open to the public. They are trying harder to make the area more to make the information more accessible to foreigners as well, translating many things into English, Korean and Chinese.

Two of my favorite festivals in Nagasaki City are Okunchi, which is held in the fall, and the Lantern Festival, which is held around Chinese New Year.

Getting around the city is fairly easy, and it’s one of the places in the prefecture that you don’t need a car. You can grab the train, bus, or tram which are all very reliable. You can also get pretty much everything that you need, shopping wise. There is a large arcade, as well as two shopping centers; Amu Plaza and Cocowalk.

It’s also very easy to pick up a hobby in this city. I go to Nagasaki once a week for naginata practice, but I also know other folks who practice iaido, hanga, rock climbing, and lots of other fun things.

I’m moving to the Sasebo Area

Oh hey! This is where I currently live, so expect this entry to be even more biased than everything else.

Sasebo is the second biggest city in the prefecture, and home to both the Japanese and American naval bases. It’s also home to a very peculiar but super enjoyable Dutch-themed theme park; Huis Ten Bosch. It’s an homage of sorts to Nagasaki’s old ties with the Netherlands. 

We also have some great views, such as the 99 islands (featured in the movie the Last Samurai), and we are apparently the birthplace of Japanese style spinning tops (Beyblade style). Our ‘local delicacies’ are the Sasebo burger and lemon steak. If you’re a bar person, than we more than our fair share, being a port town and all. We actually hold a Bar Hop every year during the fall/winter time.

I love Sasebo. It’s incredibly comfortable to live here. You get a nice balance of small city life with the rural nature only a stone’s throw away. Some people get a little disappointed that they’re stationed near an American base because they’re worried they won’t get an authentic ‘Japanese’ experience. To be honest, I was one of those people when I first found out that I would be moving here. I’ll tell you now to do away with that attitude, because every experience in Japan is a Japanese experience. I’ve had a chance to meet all sorts of people living here both born and raised here and also from abroad.

I’m moving to an island

If you got an island, chances are you’re going to Goto, Tsushima, Iki, or Ojika. They are incredibly beautiful, but this is coming from a visitor rather than someone who is actually living on one

From what I’ve been told, island life is what you imagine it to be; slow paced, an older population, beautiful beaches and lots of fresh seafood. You also get some of the best beach parties, marathons, and sunsets. The islands in Nagasaki are accessible either by ferry or plane and are usually connected to either Fukuoka, Nagasaki, or Sasebo ports.

If you are an outdoorsy and small-town person, then these placements are perfect for you. If this is your first time away from ‘civilization’, you might feel a little isolated at times, but if you try to join the local community, it’ll help a lot!

I’m moving to Omura/Isahaya

I actually feel really bad because Omura and Isahaya are two of the places I’ve been to the least, but I know that there are a lot of cool people there. So I’m sorry that this post will not be doing it justice. Here is a great video though that city recently made that a lot of Omura acquaintances and friends of mine said really encompass how they feel.

Omura is the fourth largest city in the prefecture and home to Nagasaki Airport! So, while the rest of us still have another hour or so drive, you guys are very lucky.

Omura used to be a castle town, ruled by the Omura clan for a good 900 years. In fact, you can still explore some of the castle ruins as well as a gorgeous area to do sakura viewing during the spring.  

There are always international events going on in the city thanks to their international center (where a lot of the programs are run by a former JET!), so you’ll get a chance to connect with the community pretty easily!

Isahaya is the third largest city and hometown of the Japanese gymnast (and Olympic gold medalist) Kohei Uchimura. It is also the city where the original Meganebashi (Spectacles Bridge) is kept and preserved.

These are both fairly new events, but during the springtime there is a Gourmet Festival as well as a Yabusame event held in the city. Yabusame is a must see for anyone who is interested in traditional Japanese culture.

I’m moving to the Higashisonogi District

The Higashisonogi area is in-between Omura and Sasebo and includes three towns; Hasami, Kawatana, and Higashisonogi. While they are on the small side, each place has their own little specialty!

Hasami is right near the border of Saga and is part of the porcelain belt. That means it’s one of the towns that has a 400-year history with origin of Japanese porcelain, which was brought over from Korea and China. Their signature style is a white and blue underglaze. Hasami is a quaint and cute and I make trips there every now and then. Their biggest festival is the Hasami-yaki Matsuri, which takes place during Golden Week. As you can expect, it’s where you can buy tons of porcelain and pottery from around the area.

Kawatana is a party townnnn!

Or that’s what I like to jokingly call it because one of my schools often has staff parties in this town. It really does have a number of delicious restaurants, including my favorite hot pot place, つばさ. Kawatana is right by Omura Bay, making for an incredibly picturesque view. What it is probably best known for is it’s peacock park, which was a gift from India, as a symbol of friendship between the two cities.

Lastly is Higashi Soonogi (what the district is named after! Or is it vice versa?). Higashi Soonogi is best known for growing green tea and you can see several rows of the bushes around the town. According to a friend of mine, Higashi Soonogi is also one of the towns that has a decently large community of folks who have moved from Tokyo and Sendai not long after the earthquake. This is because Nagasaki prefecture is an area that has the least amount of natural disasters in Japan, and Higashisonogi is a good place to set up a business. I would also like to point out that this town has a lot of great off lovely ‘off the beaten track’ trails, where you feel as though you are walking right into a Ghibli movie. One of those places is Chiwata! I would recommend you talk to the local ALTs and Higashisonogijin more about it!

 I’m moving to Hokubu Area

When we’re talking Hokubu, we usually mean Hirado, Matsuura and Saza! Hirado was known to be a port city where a lot of trade between Japan and Asian countries occurred. It’s also the burial site of William Adams, the first recorded Englishman to travel to Japan. 

Matsuura’s name to fame is that it was the area of the Mongol invasion failed due to typhoons. There is a lot to discover in the area if you are a history buff, or you’re big on beaches, camping and hiking! The area is truly breathtaking. In fact it’s so beautiful, that many Japanese car commercials are filmed on the island of Ikitsuki.

Saza is one of the only towns within the Sasebo area to not actually merge with the city and it’s very proud of that! It also has a saltwater river that runs through the town, which is a very unique feature to the town. 

The one thing about the area is that it can be a little hard to get around via public transportation, so it’s best to get a car if you can!

 I’m moving to the Unzen/Shimabara

Or as most ALTs I know from the area lovingly call it ‘The Hanto’. Amakusa National park was actually one of the first national parks in Japan, so you can expect a lot of great hiking in this area, as well as onsen!

Mt. Unzen is actually an active volcano, that last erupted in 1996, but I wouldn’t about that happening anytime soon. The town has a bit of a Dutch feel to it, which is yet another nod to Nagasaki’s ties to the Netherlands. Meanwhile, Shimabara is a castle town, is known for the Shimabara Rebellion, which was during the Edo period when there was persecution of Christians as well as mismanagement in the government. You can also check out Obama, which is known for it’s cold onsens, and of course, having the same name as the former United States president. You can also expect the area to have a lot of off the beaten track restaurants.

I’m no expert of the area, but we do have another Tumblr JET @wandereranddreamer here to answer your questions!

 I’m moving to Saikai/Nishi Sonogi

Do you love Capybara and beaches? Excellent, because this area has both! As you’ve probably guessed, Saikai is on the western part of Omura Bay. Saikai has Biopark, which is a zoo, but where the animals are actually able to run around and have their own space! You can feed and pet capybara, mara, monkeys, and so much more. There is also a lot of green spaces, such as the Nagasaki Forest Prefectural Park, a number of beaches, and a few islands accessible by bridges. It is a little bit inaka, so you’ll probably need a car to get around! But it’s well worth it. And if you get a little too tired of the countryside, you are perfectly situation right inbetween both Sasebo and Nagasaki.

 I still want more information!!!

Oh wow, okay! Well, if you are really super curious, might I suggest reading up on the Nagazasshi? It’s a local (and free) English magazine, all about the prefecture. It’s a great magazine, and I’m not just saying that because I was a former editor for it, ahaha.  

If you are into movies, anime, or manga then you can check out these titles that take place in Nagasaki Prefecture

Kids on the Slope (Manga, Anime, Movie) – A coming of age story that takes place during the 1960s, Sasebo.

Silence (Movie) – All about the spread and persecution of Christianity in Nagasaki.

Aoi no Hana, Utsuwa no Mori (Manga)- A josei manga that is all about love and pottery in Hasami

Barakumon (Manga, Anime)- The story of a professional calligrapher who moves from the big city a tiny town on the islands of Goto

Irudoku: The World in Colors-  Hitomi Tsukishiro is a teenage girl from a family of witches who loses her sense of colors. She travels back in time to the year 2018 and meets the 17-year-old version of her grandmother.

Phew, well. I think that’s about all I can offer for this post. If you’ve read through this all, awesome! I hope you’ve found it useful!

[mon-blanchetts]

Set It Off, Because You Know You Want To (3/6)

When she couldn’t hold her breath any longer, Sansa emerged from the depths of her bath, panting for air. The chamber was warm and heavy with moisture, while the light from the braziers and candles left sinister shadows across the floor—a strange, convulsing mass desperate for some kind of freedom from the darkness. A small window high above the wall adjacent to her was the only filter to the outside world; she could hear the waves crashing against the cliffs, but this evening the sounds were menacing, when they were usually a soothing comfort. So much was marred, now that Jon had finally arrived.

She was grateful that the only thing that had been planned today was the procession itself, and even that felt like it had stretched on for an eternity. A good soak in her tub had washed off all the dust and perspiration from her body, while the hot water had melted some of the ache in her bones. Sansa had never been particularly comfortable on horses, and a prolonged ride through the royal capital had left her legs and arms sore. She knew that it couldn’t be helped, though; the procession had moved at a glacial pace, considering the crowds that had lined the streets, bodies and bodies pressed against each other as they tried to catch a better glimpse of both their queen and this King in the North they had only heard of, but never seen. Sansa doubted that Jon lived up to their expectations, but that wasn’t surprising. He didn’t appear before them dressed in a shimmering coat of armor, nor did he have a head of white-blonde hair like his aunt; from what she had witnessed, he came as much of himself as he could, a northerner with no illusions of being otherwise. His clothes had hearkened to the severe reality that existed in the kingdom he ruled over, where frills and fancy were distant concepts.    

The thought of his attire made her smile as she leaned her head against the edge of the tub, but it disappeared as soon as she remembered the way Jon had caught sight of her for the first time in so many moons, though she had been several rows down from the front of the procession. Sansa thought that she had forgotten those looks of his, or, at the least, that she had been successful enough in pushing them into the deeper recesses of her mind, so as to cast the illusion that she had forgotten. But the moment she had laid eyes on his sullen face—the face of a Stark, she had thought, suddenly conscious of her bright red hair and Tully-blue eyes—it all came flooding back, like a dam that had burst, making her wish that she had come up with an excuse to stay behind at the Red Keep, rather than be drawn in with the party of nobles and courtiers that had accompanied Daenerys behind her to and from the keep. She wasn’t impressed with herself.

Neither was Jon, she thought. The resentment she’d felt towards him ever since she’d been told of his arrival edged back to the surface, but now that he was actually here, she felt tired, above anything. Their reunion flashed through her mind again before earlier scenes drifted back towards her: the clang of Jon’s cup as he tapped it against the arm of his chair, when she told him of her plans to go south, like a drumming march that encouraged her to leave faster; Ghost, howling at the moon on the night before she left for the royal capital, keeping her and most of Winterfell wide awake—that same night, Rickon had snuck into her bedchamber, his head leaning against her shoulder, while she sang softly into his ear, of farmers who had misplaced their livestock and of ladies who married magical beasts disguised as handsome knights, hoping to cast out the direwolf’s cries. Sansa remembered how sad and agonizing his howls were, just as vividly as she remembered how irritated and tired she’d been because of them.

A squawk from outside startled her from her thoughts. Hoping to get a shift over herself before Alys returned, Sansa rose from the tub and reached for a piece of linen to dry herself. But even so much as a slight stretch worsened the stinging sensation on her back, and she hissed at the feeling. It’s only because it’s still fresh, she said to herself, dabbing the piece of linen on a specific portion of her back. She had seen the damage her nails had made only this morning, had managed to wash the blood off the wound before her handmaiden had arrived to help, but she still couldn’t stop herself from taking another peak at it again right now.

With her back facing the glass, Sansa studied the source of the stinging discomfort: a scar, no longer than her smallest finger, that intersected her right shoulder blade, like a fine stitch she had sewn into her own pale skin using the lightest of red thread that she owned. There were more of them on her body, scars that she had re-opened, some while she’d been awake and some while she’d been asleep. Memories of Joffery’s cruelty, of the rage he took out on her because of Robb’s victories, all of them slowly being restored to life whenever her nails scraped across them again and again, raw enough until they drew blood. She knew the habit was worsening, but in the back of her mind she always had an inkling that it wasn’t going to get any better, either. The sight of those reopened scars was both satisfying and worrisome, but she continued to stare at the freshest one across her shoulder blade until she heard soft footsteps outside her door, those that were undoubtedly Alys’s.

Once, and only once, did she consider getting the matter looked at by Maester Tarly. She had clamped down on the idea as soon as it arose. There were some things she’d rather keep to herself—this was one of them.

Sansa looked over her shoulder to stare at Alys, her eyebrows knitted together with curiosity. Sleep had been difficult to get last night, as with most nights, but on this one in particular there was an endless cacophony of footsteps and noises that drifted from the hallways outside her chambers and from the world beyond her windows, as if someone was bound to burst through her door at any moment. It was a similar fear that had gripped her all those years ago as well.

“Her Grace wants to see me this early in the day? Are you sure?”

“Yes, my lady.”

She returned to the glass before her, sighing quietly to herself. “If that is her wish.”

Kyllan was waiting outside her door when she emerged for the day. She followed behind him as he guided her towards the queen’s apartments, located in a wing far from her own bedchamber, but she knew that they were getting close as the hallways grew denser with people, courtiers who were hoping to get a word in as Her Grace walked through the corridors to get to wherever she was needed for the day. A few of them eyed her curiously as walked passed them, but she kept her head high and her gaze ahead of her, never once wavering.  

The queen’s bedchamber was sumptuously decorated: the walls were covered with beautifully-rendered tapestries and the freshest of flowers were elegantly arranged throughout, but the room itself felt smaller than she had anticipated. This wasn’t the same one that Cersei Lannister had occupied when she was queen—that room had been reworked for other purposes, the archways and columns demolished and new walls erected so as to vanquish her memory and spirit forever.  

Daenerys herself was seated at her dressing table, watching her through the immense glass. Several handmaidens fluttered around the room, attending to the queen’s toiletries and the general upkeep of her room.

Sansa had barely risen from her curtsy when the queen spoke. “Would you dress my hair this morning, Lady Stark? I’m looking for a fresh design to wear today, and I feel that a different pair of hands might just do the trick.”

She blinked several times in surprise. “I only know so many patterns, Your Grace,” she confessed.

“Are they northern styles?”

“I believe so, Your Grace.”

“Perfect,” she crooned, before dismissing all of her handmaidens from the room. The move was enough to put her on the alert, but all the women had moved swiftly passed her to the door before she could attempt some polite protest. Daenerys gestured for her to come forward, her violet eyes gazing at her reflection in the glass as she went to stand behind her. The queen was already dressed for the day, in a sleeveless gown of sapphire blue that draped effortlessly over her shoulders and across her waist. She always preferred softer styles, but Sansa knew that she was anything but.  

It felt rather strange, she thought, peering down at the top of the queen’s head like this, her hair free of any braids or curls. It made her less regal than she was known to appear, perhaps even a little vulnerable. Sansa felt the same way when she sat before her own dressing table, while Alys dressed her own hair into the elaborate styles that made her a little bit more than she was. A woman’s own kind of armor, Margery had said to her, once; the older Sansa got, the more she believed her. A small smile ghosted along her mouth when she thought about the Aryas and Briennes of the world, women who would have objected to her old friend’s personal philosophy.

One of Sansa’s hand hovered along the sides of the queen’s head while she went over the possibilities that she might be able to try. The very intricate ones were lost on her—not only was she incapable of them, but she doubted that Daenerys wanted that, either. Cradling a handful of her pale, blonde hair in her palm, Sansa couldn’t help but be intrigued by the feel of it against her skin, a texture that was so familiar and yet different as well. A design began to take shape in her head, one she had seen on Lady Karstark that stood out for reasons she can’t fathom, but was still fresh enough in her mind that was confident she could reproduce. With careful consideration she began to divide the hair into several sections, taking note of three sections in particular for the braids. Starting on the left side, she began the repetitive act of weaving one group of locks over the other, until little by little the first braid took shape.

“Was it your mother who taught you do this?” Daenerys asked, just as she was halfway through the first braid. Her fingers were working much slower than she would have liked, but she had little choice in the matter; it was one thing to braid her own hair, but another thing entirely to do someone else’s. Whatever muscle memory she had developed whenever she had to do her own braids did not transfer over, it seemed, forcing her to concentrate on her work.

“She tried, but I wasn’t as interested in the craft as she would have hoped. I liked it more when she did my hair for me, though.” While her eyes were firmly attuned to her hand movements, she can’t help the nostalgic smile from forming on her lips, the one which usually appeared whenever she thought about her mother.

“You’re very fortunate,” Daenerys mused, soft and absentminded, but there was an edge beneath that told Sansa the comment was anything but. “Perhaps you didn’t think so when she did it for you everyday, but how lovely that would have been, I imagine.”

“I wish I had appreciated it when I still had the chance,” she divulged.

“It never does work out that way, does it?”

She shook her head slowly. “No, Your Grace. It doesn’t.”

A brief silence descended upon them as she completed the first braid, only realizing just how long the queen’s hair was. The braid was tightly-made and equally proportioned, but Sansa was satisfied enough with it to continue with the next one.  

“You must be so happy to see Jon again,” the queen said suddenly. “We barely saw you at the banquet, though.”

“I was there, Your Grace,” she insisted, pretending to be deeply immersed in the hair she was dividing up again, but realizing that her earlier suspicions might be coming true.  

Sansa hadn’t wanted to attend the banquet, considering the hours-long feast that had preceded it, but she was all too aware that her absence would have sparked disapproving comments from the southern nobles, a breach of their formality and custom for someone of such high rank. So she went, in the end, though she had found herself wandering from one corner to another. It hadn’t been difficult avoiding the main attraction—Jon and Daenerys had been tightly surrounded by numerous courtiers and lords, all of them eager to get a word in, to be received by either in the hope that a private audience might follow sometime in the future, if they were fondly remembered. She opted to marvel at the workmanship that had gone into the banquet hall instead, which had been erected in the gardens south of the Red Keep in honor of Jon’s arrival. The structure might have appeared spacious and simple in its design, but she hadn’t missed the little details that the stonemasons had added along the ceiling, or the intricately-carved patterns that snake along the entire length of the columns. It was a strange fascination she had developed, ever since Winterfell fell into her hands. She would study the standing structures, the ones that had persisted against the Bolton’s wrath, had done so with a new set of eyes, finding new interest in its design and architecture, in its sturdiness. It was a characteristic she had come to appreciate much more nowadays, rather than the majestic, pretty castles she’d imagine running, together with a husband as dashing and handsome as herself, though he’d been rather faceless when she would run through her imaginings, oddly enough. Had she somehow known, deep in the bowers of her unconsciousness, the kind of marriages that would befall her? Had the faceless husband that she had fantasized about been so abstract because she had actually known that she was destined for men who could never live up to the image?

“You did not approach us though,” Daenery pointed out, startling her out of her reminiscences. “I could tell that the King was hoping you would come by, but you never did. It left him feeling rather down, you see.”

“Northerners aren’t used to this level of spectacle,” she explained, looking to convince the queen otherwise. “Perhaps the King was feeling overwhelmed. My father carried with him a similar attitude when we first came here, as well.”

“The King will want to see you, now that he’s here though. You know that, of course.”

She maintained a passive expression on her face. “If time permits, you mean.”

“With or without time,” the queen corrected. “I find that my nephew can be quite determined when he wants to be—take, for instance, his desire to visit the capital. How odd that he’s decided to come now, even if his reasons aren’t wholly ridiculous. And yet whenever I bring up the issue of marriage, he is as elusive as water through one’s fingers. It’s absolutely frustrating.”

Sansa tried to keep herself from smiling, knowing that it would be a sad one; it would have been too telling of her thoughts, but she had already learned from the blunder she had made the last time she was offered a private audience with the queen.

“His Grace never thought he could make a marriage as high-standing as the one you’re hoping for him,” she said, by way of some explanation. “It can be a lot to ask for someone who never thought he’d amount to anything more than a lord’s bastard. Now he’s faced with the idea of marrying a princess.” Sansa reached for a band on the dressing table to hold the second braid, but she worked with much more caution, now, as if the hair she held had the potential to burn her if handled too harshly. The fact that she was looking to her to understand Jon’s attitudes towards marriage made her anxious; the queen was fishing for a specific answer, and all she could do was be ready for it. It could make or break this sudden intimacy they were sharing, she realized. And, just like the courtiers and nobles that hovered outside in the hallways, she was just as eager to win Daenerys’s favor. Sansa knew that she was getting a better opportunity than most, thanks to her connections with Jon, but it was those same connections that could destroy everything, too.

She could feel the queen’s eyes studying her through the glass. “What do you suggest then, Lady Stark? How am I to convince him that he ought to marry Princess Arianne? I’ve already tried expounding all of her virtues and qualities, not to mention all that her inheritance can offer to the North. What now?”

Inheritance. It was a word she disliked terribly, almost as much as she disliked this conversation, necessary as it was.

“You must give it time, Your Grace,” she comforted. “The King respects you too much to discard any idea you may place before him, and he’s no stranger to duty. He knows what’s expected of him, and he’ll do the right thing, no matter how badly he might dislike it.”

“I know there are northern lords who aren’t so pleased with the idea of this union,” Daenerys said. “Some would prefer a bride from the north. And it’s not beyond the King’s rights to choose one, if that’s his wish.”

Sansa can’t stop herself from glancing at the queen’s face in the glass. From the look she received, she knew all too well what it was that the queen wanted to ask. Are you one of them?

“Princess Arianne is a suitable choice for His Grace,” she insisted.

Without warning Daenerys turned her head around to look up at her directly. Sansa dropped the last braid that she was plaiting in surprise, watching as it unraveled on its own.

“The braid, Your Grace,” she breathed, looking at her upended work a little forlornly.

“You can do it over,” she assured, but her tone was dismissive. “There’s something that I’d like you to do, Lady Stark.”

“Me?”

The queen nodded. “Yes. I think you’re the most apt at convincing the King that a union between himself and Princess Arianne is ideal, not just for the north, but for the whole of the Seven Kingdoms as well. You, of all his councilors, should be able to bend his mind towards the idea. Would you do it, now that I’m asking you?”

Sansa blinked several times, trying to maintain her composure. “Are you asking me or ordering me, Your Grace?”

The queen’s smile is an amused one. “Which would you prefer?”

There didn’t seem to be a difference, now that she thought about it. “Your Grace, beg your pardon, but I’ve told you once before already my influence isn’t as strong as you like to think. Cousins we may be, but my advice isn’t something he always heeds.”

“Why do you always say that?” She questioned, her eyes narrowing a little. “You tell me you’ve little sway over my nephew, but you’ve offered no explanation of it. I’m not a fool, Lady Stark. I know that Jon will always be more of a wolf than he is a dragon, and I know that he holds his cousins in very high esteem—some more than others, I’m sure, but I’m rather inclined to believe that you fall in the former.”

“Your Grace, I’d rather not say.”

“Is it so treasonous?”

Sansa smiled sadly. “No, I wouldn’t go as far as that.”

“Then tell me. I want to know.”

Sansa considered the queen for a moment, arms lax at her sides. Give a little to get a little, she reasoned. If she wanted Daenerys to trust her, she needed to show her that she could do the same, even if it was only to a certain degree.

“I haven’t always been true to the King,” she confided.

“How so?”

“I withheld information from him when he thought I shouldn’t have.”

Daenerys turned back in her seat, her face towards the glass. “Keep going,” she encouraged. Sansa knew that the braids weren’t the only thing she was referring to.

Her words were carefully chosen, but they were enough to paint a fairly authentic portrait of what had transpired. Sansa spoke of a Targaryen lineage that she had known about when Littlefinger had confided to her about the raven he had intercepted from the Lord of Greywater Watch, of Jon learning about her secrets only long after. But there were certainly things she hadn’t spoken of, either—like an angry kiss that had been shared, the way his hand had found the back of her head, nor the remnants of Littlefinger’s extensive legacy. She said nothing of Jon’s resentment, or of the way he looked at her like Robert Baratheon once looked at his own wife, shattering all of her hopes for them.

“I wanted you to stay,” she blurted, reaching for his wrist. He refused to look at her, but she pushed on anyway, desperate to turn his mind over. “I wanted you to be by my side, so that we would never be separated the way we were before. How could we have done that, Jon? How could I have housed a Targaryen without the northern lords in a complete uproar?”

“You wanted a King who they would rally behind,” he accused, his tone as cold as ice.

“It’s a minor transgression,” Daenerys concluded, her voice like a blade that cut through her memories, “but I know how unforgiving my nephew can be as well.”

“Now you see why I may not be as useful to you as you think I am,” she said. “I suppose I’ve lost your respect as well, just as I’ve lost his.”

“Everyone has their secrets,” the queen noted, not unkindly. “And the Kingdom of the North still stands, despite that.”

Sansa smirked to herself. The final braid was completed at last, but one last thing had to be done to complete the design.

“I still want you to try,” Daenerys urged.

“Even after all I’ve told you, Your Grace?”

“Yes, even after all that,” she said, bobbing her head gently so as not to upset her work.

“May I ask why?”

A pensive silence pervaded the queen’s bedchamber as Sansa gathered all three braids to form an elaborate one at the back. She knew that confession made her less useful to Daenerys than she wanted to reveal, but she had gambling with her honesty, instead; it was a quality that was as rare as it was dangerous, here at court, but it was one that the queen also valued, at least when it was used right.

“You know that Jon has a right to the lands in and surrounding the Gift, do you not?”

“I do, Your Grace.”

“The marriage treaty that Lord Tyrion has drafted includes a very important term,” she disclosed, running her fingers through the loose strands of hair that fell over her shoulders. “The Gift will be the seat of power for the King in the North, where a castle fit for him and his consort will be erected. You know that that means, don’t you?”

Sansa’s hand stopped moving. Daenerys didn’t notice, or she didn’t care.

“Winterfell may be the home of the Starks, but Jon is also a Targaryen—he’s part of a new line, now. He deserves to be King in the North, though I’m sure many will disagree. You see, I wouldn’t have much of a kingdom now if he had never approached me about the threat from beyond the Wall. The North owes its independence to Jon because of that, but he owes his allegiance to me, as well. Until I marry and have children of my own, he is my heir. Because of that, his duty lies beyond the north, as well.”

Her heart was racing at this news, of this strange possibility. It sounded incredibly foreign in her ears, even while the question of Jon’s seat wasn’t something new. It had always been a point of mild contention amongst the lords, but it was never serious enough to cause any real animosity. As long as they didn’t have to host him, why press the matter? It hadn’t even been an issue for her either, until their fallout changed everything.

“While the King settles into the Gift with his new consort, you and your brother would have full rights to your birthplace once more,” the queen intoned. “So, you may think that you have little influence over the king, but I don’t know if that would stop someone like you—not when you know there’s a prize to be won.”

Sansa didn’t know whether to take that as a compliment or an insult, but she didn’t really care if it were either, at this point; her mind was too crowded with all that she had been told, like that jar of beads that Old Nan once had, so full that the cork stopper wouldn’t push down all the way.  

“Will you help me, Lady Stark? So that I, in turn, can help you?”

The nakedness in her request took her off guard—what first felt like some merchant transaction was now varnished with something more familiar. Everything was a maddening turn of events, leaving her near distraction: she’d come to King’s Landing to curry favor with the queen because she’d lost Jon’s, only to be told that her best interests lay in revitalizing them, somehow. Daenerys had spoken of a prize, but the reality was that it didn’t really matter if she failed or succeeded; all that really mattered was that Jon married whom his aunt wanted him to, and she wanted him to marry Princess Arianne Martell.

There it was again, that strange pull in her chest that she experienced more and more often, every time she thought about Jon marrying another. She was casting it aside now, for better prospects. What other option was there?  

“I want to help you, Your Grace, but your disappointment is something I’d rather not like incur, if I should fail to do what you ask of me.”

“I only ask that you try,” she urged. “As long as you try, I’ll never forget that.”

It was as good as a promise as she would ever get; she wasn’t foolish enough to let it slip through her fingers. “Then I will try, Your Grace.”

The queen smiled at her knowingly through the glass. “Thank you,” she said, at the same time when she was finally finished dressing her hair. It was well done, considering her initial grievances about her experience; Sansa looked down at it with a source of pride, even while she couldn’t help but note how strange the design looked on Daenerys.

She wondered how Princess Arianne would look with her hair braided in the same style. Sansa wondered if Jon would like it.

“She’s found good prey, my lady,” the falconer informed her, bending forward to pick up the game. Sansa smiled proudly at the peregrine perched on her gloved hand before rewarding the bird with a comfit that she had prepared.

It was only recently that she had taken to falconry, but the more she partook the more rewarding it became. Her arm wasn’t as sore as it used to be, not like it had been during her first outings, and she found the jingling of bells attached to the bird’s ankles more comforting than she would have thought. The sport had lost some of its popularity since Daenerys claimed the Iron Throne, but that turned out rather well for her, she learned; the small, forgotten field used for the activity was devoid of people, giving her the peace and solitude that she often longed for.

A voice that wasn’t entirely familiar called her name. Sansa looked away from the bird towards the path, her eyes growing wide as moons as she watched the figures approaching her.

One of the figures was Lady Alysanne Farman, a woman who was pleasant enough to get along with, though Sansa hardly encountered her, save for the occasional run-in through the corridor. Lady Alysanne’s husband was a second son who had an appointment in the royal armory and was quiet where his wife was not, though together they made an imposing image, both being exceptionally tall. Her presence was initially lost on Sansa, until she realized that the man walking arm-in-arm with her was none other than Jon himself, whose dark attire was in stark contrast to the light pink coloring of Lady Alysanne’s gown. Several guards and a few other courtiers trailed behind them, to her further chagrin; her little hideaway had been compromised.

“Lady Stark,” greeted the noblewoman, her face bright with pride, “I had a feeling you would be here, but it took quite a bit of persuading on my part to convince His Grace as well.”  

There wasn’t anything she could say to that, not yet; the only she could muster was a nervous smile at the Lady Alysanne before she ventured a glance at Jon. He, too, said nothing in response, but she wasn’t blind to the peculiar expression on his face as he watched her with that same kind of intensity as her peregrine. It was the first time since his arrival that they were in such close vicinity—it was the first time that Sansa had seen him this close. It was both strange and familiar at the same time, similar to when she had taken up the bells again after what seemed like an eternity, but the speed of her racing heart was a thing of its own.

She smiled at Lady Alysanne nervously before glancing at Jon. He didn’t say anything in response, but she wasn’t blind to the peculiar expression on his face as he watched her just as intently as her peregrine did. Sansa decided to match his silence as she dipped a quick curtsy, though she found that it was a strange ritual to be doing before him. Family members had been exempt from any formal shows of deference at Winterfell, but no such exception existed in the royal capital.

“Wh—what brings you all the way out here, Your Grace?” She stumbled, after dipping into a quick curtsy. The audience that had followed Jon to the fields stood an even farther distance away, but she knew that their eyes and ears were wide open, eager for something good to happen that they could circulate through the halls of the keep. Anything noteworthy would certainly make its way to the queen as well, she remembered warily. Don’t give them anything to talk about, she told herself. Just don’t.

When Jon held a piece of parchment before her, Sansa knew exactly what it was.

“By the time I received your invitation, you were nowhere in the gardens,” he pointed out, dropping his arm. “I was sorry to have missed you.”

Sansa couldn’t take her eyes off the parchment that he was holding. “It’s understandable, of course,” she murmured, attempting a passive shrug, “seeing as your attentions are extremely hard to come by.” What Jon didn’t know was that it was for this exact reason that she had sent the invitation in the first place—because she didn’t expect that he’d show up. All she had been looking for was a chance to assuage the guilt she was feeling whenever she thought about her last conversation with the dragon queen; Sansa had rationalized that a failed attempt was better than no attempt.  

“I’m here now,” he affirmed. “And I’d like to speak with you. Alone.”

She managed a tight smile at him, but she was all too aware of the fact that Lady Alysanne’s gaze was flitting between them curiously.

“Would you like to see the Dornish monkeys, Your Grace?” She offered, hoping to divert everyone’s attentions elsewhere. “I heard they were installed in the royal menagerie only yesterday, but they’re the strangest creatures anyone’s ever seen, especially in the eyes of a northerner.”

From the poignant flicker in his eyes, Sansa knew that Jon could see right through her tricks. The realization made her nervous; how many more was he aware of?

“The animals can wait,” he responded, his tone as steadfast as his demeanor. When Jon dismissed Lady Alysanne and the small retinue that had trailed behind them, she didn’t try to stop him, though the temptation to do so was heavy. It was actually safer to have eyes around them while they talked; without any, the rumors would surely fly, and there was little chance of tethering them. Sansa wondered, with no small amount of bitterness, which one was going to inform the queen of this; would it be Lady Alysanne herself, or one of the other courtiers in the flock, desperate to make a name for himself in this den of wild creatures?  

Sansa’s gaze fell back on Jon.

“Are you well?” She asked, not knowing what else to say. It came out disinterested and hollow, but there was no helping it; her mind was a rush of thoughts and plans, tossing through all the possibilities that might spring from this private conversation she had failed to avoid. Sansa recalled the only letter she had written to him, since her arrival—that same letter he never responded to. At first she’d been angry about his lackadaisical tendencies, but resignation followed quickly after; she wasn’t sure why she had expected anything different, considering the way he had behaved around her, whenever they had crossed paths at home. I know how unforgiving my nephew can be, Daenerys had said to her, but Sansa wasn’t entirely sure of that.

Jon watched her steadily with those stormy grey eyes of his. “I’ve been better,” he confessed. His response produced a brief surge of curiosity before she brushed it aside. She was doubtful he’d elaborate, anyway.

“What about Rickon? How is he?”

“He misses you terribly, just like I said he would.”

Her face softened at the mention of her younger brother. “He’ll get over it eventually,” she insisted. “He’s been without a sister before.”

Jon looked unconvinced. “Rickon told me that he’s asked you to come home in every letter he wrote.”

If I could, I would, she thought. “Yes, I know.”

“But you won’t,” he said, turning his head to the side while he stared into the expanse of the field. “Not for a while, at least.”

You’d like that, wouldn’t you? She thought, as she studied the outline of his profile. “I came on the queen’s invitation to spend the remainder of the summer with her,” she reminded him.

“Is that the only reason why you’re here?”

A rustle, followed by the sound of jingling bells, saved her from having to answer; the peregrine was making its way back to her again after she had released it.

“It’s beautiful,” she heard Jon say, as the bird landed gracefully on the edge of her hand.

“She’s beautiful,” Sansa corrected, while she offered the bird another sugar comfit. “She’s a gift, actually, from the Tyrells. It’s not as unique as those Dornish monkeys that the envoys brought, but I couldn’t be more pleased. Are you aware that they’re going to be made as gifts to you?”

Jon’s face hardened at the information. While it hasn’t been made official as of yet, it was common knowledge that the monkeys were meant for Jon to take back to the north, together with confirmation of his betrothal to Princess Arianne as well.

“The monkeys can stay here,” Jon declared. “I don’t want them.”

“That won’t sit well with the Dornishmen,” she pointed out, stroking the bird’s underbody with one finger. “You need to show them that you’re open to their culture and their practices—and that includes their animals.” She didn’t even have to provide context; they both knew, just like most of the court, that Daenerys was looking to convince Jon into marrying the Dornish princess.

“Ghost will have them in his belly, if they don’t die from the cold first.”

Sansa eyed him disapprovingly. “Ghost will just have to learn to play nice.”

“I don’t want them,” he repeated, his tone petulant. “I don’t need any gifts from the Dornish.”

“What do you need, then?” What is it that you want?

Jon didn’t answer immediately. Sansa kept her gaze fixed on the peregrine, noting her sharp, dark eyes, shiny enough that she wondered if it was made out of glass.

“I need to know when you’re coming home, Sansa.”

She refused to take her eyes off the bird before her, but the peregrine’s appearance was the last thing on her mind now. It was with great effort that she stopped herself from asking him what he meant, or what he was trying to do, but she now she was too nervous about his answers. It seemed like forever since her name had come from Jon’s lips, echoing back to a period when they had been so familiar with each other, but the reminder only served to bring their current relations into sharp relief. The walls erected between them were too high now, too impenetrable, so that whatever he meant, Sansa knew that she could no longer heed them.

“Winterfell is in good hands for the time being,” she assured, staring hard at the peregrine’s dotted underbelly. “Maester Tarly sends me daily reports, but so far there isn’t anything that he or my steward hasn’t been able to deal with.”

When Sansa finally opted to glance at him, something wholly unfamiliar flashed across his face for only a moment before it vanished, leaving her no opportunity whatsoever to understand it. Whatever it was, it brought on another wave of panic that signaled to her how dangerous this conversation was becoming.

“It’s time I go back,” she informed, gesturing to the falconer hastily. Sansa was desperate to escape, knowing that they had spoken long enough, but her chance was cut short when Jon’s hand darted out to clutch one of her arms just as she tried to brush past him.

Despite the layer of fabric between them, his fingers were hot enough that she thought they could sear through the flesh of her skin, but all she could do was stare warily at him. It wasn’t a possessive grip, not exactly; despite the strange heat, she couldn’t help but sense that there was a kind of longing in it, until she wondered if perhaps the feeling was entirely hers. It had been so long since she had seen someone from Winterfell—home, she thought, forlornly—that perhaps the longing she was thinking of was just her own, a woman starving for contact with someone of her kin, someone she could trust in this environment that had once been so cruel to her and her family.

“Yes, Your Grace?” She said, glancing down at his hand. The young falconer was within hearing distance from them, and she was already too aware how compromising they looked.

“I know about your inheritance,” he confessed, his voice no louder than a whisper, “and I know that there’s nothing left.” His breath danced across her cheeks like a sweet caress, but the words themselves were more like a slap across her face. It took just about everything she knew to keep her expression passive.

“You made it very clear once that you never wanted to concern yourself with that,” she reminded him sternly, trying to shake off his hold, but it was a meager attempt. “You’re wrong, anyway.”

She said this with as much conviction as she could muster, her head held high, even while she wanted to break down and cry at his words. Her dowry, at least what was once made up of it, had been the key to her hold over the northern lords, but the weight of its contents, the blood and betrayal that was ingrained in it, had been too much for her to bear. It was never hers to keep—she couldn’t, knowing where it had come from. And she hadn’t, in the end.

Jon needn’t know about this. Nobody did, for her sake.

His hold didn’t falter. “I need you to listen to me,” he half-pleaded, half-ordered. “I know that you’re up to something—Dany’s invitation isn’t the only reason why you’re here.”

“That’s none of your business,” she hissed, glaring at him. “Besides, what do you care? Why would you care about anything that I do? You said you’d never forgive me, remember?”

She was expecting some kind of outburst from him, something akin to the one she still remembered from a while ago. Jon did no such thing, in the end; he merely stood where he was, fingers still curled around her arm, but there was a certain kind softness around his eyes that she couldn’t quite contextualize.  

“I’ve learned that there are other things you can do to me that hurt more.”

Sansa continued to glare at him. She hadn’t a clue what he meant by that, but she knew that to care was to invite more trouble in.

“Everything I’m doing is for the sake of my home,” she declared, “for Winterfell and what’s left of my family.”

“But you don’t have to do it alone,” he insisted, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t.”

In another time, the words would have melted her heart. But even the sincerity apparent on his face wasn’t enough to move her anymore; the words still felt hollow to her, empty.

She stared at him warily. “I don’t have anyone but myself, Jon. Not anymore.”

“You ha—”

“Jon,” she cut in, suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue. She didn’t want to do this, not here or anywhere. He’d made his decision long ago, and now they had to live with it, the both of them. “Jon, let go. Please.”

Hurt darted across his features, but he obeyed, dropping his hold on her arm just as suddenly as he had taken hold of it. Sansa pushed right past him as she took the path back towards the Red Keep, keeping her gaze fixed before her, refusing to look back to see whether he was following her or not. Jon was calling her name, but she pushed on anyway, deaf to the voice of reason in her head, telling her to stop for the sake of propriety, that leaving things this way was detrimental to everything she was working towards. Sansa refused to listen.  

It’s too late, she wanted to shout at him from over her shoulder; Sansa wasn’t even sure what she meant by that, and yet the words rang as true as the bright skylight above.

She didn’t know why it came to her, now of all times, but as she returned to the castle all Sansa could remember was that strange conversation she had had with Rickon, one of the last before she had left.

“Sansa? Why can’t you marry Jon?”

“Rickon,” she breathed, brushing his messy hair with her fingers. “The King in the North needs to marry someone of value. Jon needs to make a sensible match with a noble house to secure his title, not one to his cousin. I have nothing to offer, you see.”

“Sam says that it’s wiser for a man and a woman to marry for love,” her little brother responded. “He says that they get along better when they’re married if they love one another.”

She tried to ignore that dull ache in her chest while she reminded herself to have a conversation with the maester later on. “All the more reason why I shouldn’t marry Jon, then. Because he doesn’t love me.”

Rickon hadn’t ask her if she loved Jon. She remembered being grateful that he didn’t.

AN: Here it is, folks, cobbled together from a billion drafts (it’s pretty obvious, too!). I’m so sorry that this chapter took ten lifetimes to come out, but it’s all because of your amazing comments and feedback that I decided to keep going. Thanks for reading! 

I should also point out that I made a ton of things in the hope of getting inspired to write this chapter, including a playlist and this graphic. Check those out if you’re interested.