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Chapter Text

Jessamine Walter was happily walking home from school, and suddenly, she wasn't. One moment, she was crossing the street, and then she was in the middle of the woods. Her step faltered as she took in her suddenly changed surroundings. She was about ten feet behind a small group of men, circled around a fire, who were rough-looking medieval reenactors. At least, that's what they looked like.

For a moment she could do nothing but stare in plain stupid shock before one of them took notice and grinned at her.

"Look, boys," he crowed, pointing at her. Fear flooded her chest like ice as she took one, two, three steps back. "We've got a little bird!" Jessamine swore in her head, shrugged off the extra weight that was her backpack, turned tail, and ran.

She could hear them come after her, with the rustling of bushes and snapping of twigs. Jess slogged across a river and crawled through a bramble thicket by the time the sun began to set. Of course, she couldn't see the sky very well, but it had become darker. Eventually, she found a climbable tree and found the highest branch she could find and tried to rest.

Jess stayed still for as long as she could, hardly daring to breathe. Soon, she noticed no one was chasing after her. No one she could hear or see, at least. However, she was covered head to toe in mud, and it was starting to rain. The young woman swore softly as she dropped from the tree and began to head in the opposite direction from which she had come. East, if she thought correctly.

It wasn't long before she found herself under the roots of an old, gnarly oak tree. Jess wiped the rain from her brow, looking down at her clothes, which were ripped and all but unrecognizable by now. She sniffled and hunched over, wrapping her arms around her legs as the rain poured down around her.

 She woke to the sound of birds chirping and a grumbling stomach. The young woman let out a soft groan but crawled out of the mud and roots. Her legs throbbed with every step, but she had to keep moving. Jess shivered as a cold wind wrapped around her body, making her bones and sores ache.

At some point, Jess stumbled upon a wild strawberry bush, which nearly made her burst into tears. She'd eaten nothing since nearly two days before, and she was getting tired. The young woman picked some and slowly ate them, struggling to keep her eyes open.

By her guess, she'd slept perhaps five or six hours, and hadn't eaten for at least twelve hours. Then again, it was a rough estimate, and Jess didn't have a watch or anything to time, but she knew she'd... come here, at about four p.m. It was perhaps seven a.m. at her estimate.

However, Jessamine had little time to dawdle and kept moving through the forest. Before long, the trees thinned out, and she was out of the woods. She was also out of the frying pan and into the fire because there was a castle in front of her.

A very familiar castle. In fact, it was so large in reality that she nearly recoiled in shock. She saw smoke rising from what looked like chimneys to the right of said castle, suggesting a village or some sort just outside the gates.

The walls towered overhead as she turned to her right and began walking towards the smoke. Jess's stomach growled impatiently; the strawberries hadn't been enough, as it were.

However, she was trying incredibly hard not to burst into tears and just crumple to the ground. The young woman seriously prayed that this was all some horrible dream because that castle was Winterfell. Jess prayed to whoever would listen to her that this was false; just some kind of coma dream or nightmare.

It took nearly an hour to walk into the town. Most of it was empty, Jess knew, from what she'd read, because it was still summer. Some of the people gave her odd looks as she shuffled awkwardly down the muddy road.

I probably look like a wreck, she thought glumly. Covered in mud from head to toe, scratches from thorny bushes and brambles, and a rat's nest of hair. Not to mention she was a woman wearing pants; probably not unheard of, but unusual still.

Jes found an abandoned bucket full of rainwater behind an empty house, which she sipped from carefully, and tried to clean off at least some of the muck. Her skin and hair were easier to wash, but the clothes would have to go. Burned, preferably.

I might have to steal clothes, the young woman mused morosely as she peeled off her jacket and winced when she saw a large, ugly cut that she hadn't noticed amidst her shock and fear. It would have to be bandaged and cleaned, but she had no clean cloth, and no clean water, now.

Jess allowed herself to mope for a few moments before gathering herself and poured the dirty water into a scrubby bush nearby. She put it back down where it was and hurried away, trying to find some clothes.

No more than three hours later, a washerwoman had pitied her and gave her a simple dress to wear, along with a pair of sturdy leather shoes. "They're hand-me-downs," the woman had insisted when Jess had attempted to refuse the offer. "You can also stay with me and my husband for the night," the woman had added.

So now, Jess sat awkwardly at the dinner table, glancing sideways at the other two as the trio ate. It was a simple dinner of chicken, potatoes, and some kind of bean; tasty and interesting well enough. She'd helped Yana, the washerwoman, make it, though her husband Erik was a cook.

Erik gave her a kind smile, clear blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he did so. Jess gave a small smile back, but it was more like a grimace than a grin. The man leaned forward, plate empty for the most part, lacing his fingers together as he glanced at his wife. Yana met his eyes and raised a brow Jess saw from the corner of her eye as she moved some beans around on her plate.

"I see you're a good cook," Erik said abruptly, directing the statement to her. The young woman's head snapped up and she reddened. "Otherwise we'd all have to go to the maester," he added. Jokingly or not, Jess couldn't tell.

"No," Jess said, trying not to shrink into the chair. "It was all Yana, I swear," she blurted, bringing her hands together under the table to wring them anxiously. Erik shook his head, leaning back.

"No," he said, amusement seeping into his voice. "There is a reason that I am the cook, and Yana is not," At that, Yana rolled her eyes and sighed lightly.

"It's true," the brunette agreed, feigning sadness and disappointment as Jess gave an anxious smile at the two. "What my husband wants to say is that he wants to hire you," Erik gave a nod.

Jess nearly choked on her chicken, and that's how she ended up working in the kitchens of Winterfell.

Chapter Text

Over the course of the month, which Jess reckoned to be roughly the same length as July, she worked in Winterfell and slept in Winter Town. The young woman soon learned what to do and tried to learn this world's slang as well as possible. Luckily, she knew most of it, but it wasn't hard-grained into her as American sayings and idioms were. Eight-and-ten instead of eighteen, for example; they were rather heavy and awkward to say, in her opinion.

Jess kept her head down as she carried a basket full of various vegetables from the pantry to the kitchen. It was the first week of the second month in which she had arrived here, in Westeros. So far, she had found little to get herself home, which made her feel sad and angry and desperate. She wanted to go home.

She was musing on how her family would feel about this when rather suddenly, she was knocked over. Jess let out a small yelp, managing to swing the basket in such a way nothing spilled out, but she fell to the ground, scraping her palms and knees.

The young woman heard someone gasp, probably a young child from the highness of it. She managed to stand up and dust herself off and turned to look at the person who had knocked her down.

As it turned out, it was not just one, but two people and they were Arya and Bran Stark. Jess nearly choked on her own saliva as the girl apologized profusely.

"It's alright," Jess told her, managing to keep her voice steady and collected. She was a little surprised at her composure as she continued. "I'm not really hurt and the potatoes are fine, too," The young woman gave a little grin and picked up the basket. The girl smiled shyly at her while the boy beamed up at Jess.

"I'm Jessamine Walter," she said politely. "Who're you two?" The girl pouted slightly and crossed her arms.

"Only if you promise not to tell I'm not in my lessons," the girl murmured. Sounds like the Arya Stark I know, Jess mused to herself. "I'm Arya Stark, and this is my brother Brandon, but we all call him Bran," Arya blurted it all out at once, relatively quietly.

The older woman smirked to herself as she curtseyed as well as possible. "I promise not to tell, m'lady," Jess replied, smirk turning into a full-blown grin when Arya flushed and mumbled something about "don't call me a lady." Jess gave a half-mockingly woeful sigh. "However, I must return to the kitchen. They'd be lost without me and my vegetables,"

Bran let out a snort as she turned around and began to walk away. The two children began to chase after each other again, this time staying well away from any bystanders.

Jess entered the kitchen and was immediately accosted by a man only a handful of years older than her and much larger than she; Harold Ryan. The young woman pursed her lips as he snarled out, "Why are you late?"

"I took the scenic route," she deadpanned sarcastically. "And got knocked over by someone. None of the food is hurt or anything, don't get your smallclothes in a twist," The young woman rolled her eyes as Harold snatched the basket away from her. Jess saw Erik shaking his head in disappointment and beckoned her over.

"I've gotten word that the king will arrive by the end of the month," he told her calmly. "While we need only until the last week of the month to prepare the feast, I know I can trust you to get all the orders through. You're fleet-footed and firm in your words when you need to be," Erik smiled at her as she blinked stupidly in surprise.

"Are you asking me to be your courier?" The young woman asked, mirth seeping into her voice. "I'm quite certain you can do it by yourself," Erik shook his head, almost sadly.

"No," he replied calmly. "I need to keep watch on what comes and goes in the kitchen. After all, it's the king that's coming," the older man looked her in the eyes, making her shuffle her feet uncomfortably. "Surely you understand?" Jessamine winced awkwardly; he was rice. The king, queen, and virtually all of the direct heirs to the throne - it was practically asking for someone to come and poison the food or drink or both.

"I understand," she replied softly. "I'll do what I can," At that, the cook smiled softly and clasped her shoulder, slipping a note into her other hand.

"The main course will be hunted by Lord Stark and the king," he told her. "But I need whatever's on this list, and much of it can't be found in Winterfell nor Winter Town," Erik confessed softly, as if they were sharing some sort of secret. Jessamine nearly snorted at the thought but kept her face solemn. "You may need to go to Barrowton for much of it,"

Jess gave a curt nod as she pulled away. "When should I be leaving?" She asked politely. Erik shrugged lightly.

"I can get you riding clothes, coin, and a horse tonight, and you can leave on the morn," The young woman felt her face blanch. She'd barely seen a horse until a month ago, much less ride one. Jess swallowed and smiled awkwardly.

The horse was a gray roan mare, even tempered and gentle, which Jess was ever glad for. Erik helped her on and taught her how to gently spur the horse as he bid her well to Barrowton. It was a rather uneventful journey, except for a tavern brawl that Jess had somehow found herself in. (She hit someone over the head with a chair for the first time, and was rather proud about that.)

However, by the time she was done in Barrowton and back at Winterfell, nearly five days after leaving, she wanted to collapse into the ground and never get up again.

Jess spotted Arya and Bran with their two direwolves as she limped past the stables to the kitchen. Arya caught her gaze with her own, and Jess smiled wryly, giving a little wave. She headed into the kitchen, hunting down Erik.

She found him cutting meat and putting it into a pot, presumably for a stew or soup. "I placed all your orders where I could find them," the young woman told him painfully. "I also checked off what we have enough of in the pantry," Which was vegetables and grain for the most part.

Erik nodded in thanks, wiping off his hands on the apron. "You can keep the leftover silver," he told her, putting the knife and cutting board away before turning to face her. Jess winced slightly. The leftover silver was nearly ten coins - far too much for her.

"Are you sure you don't want it back?" She asked, voice cracking slightly. Erik shook his head, a fond smile on his face.

"No," he said. "I earn enough cooking for the Starks anyway, and you haven't earned anything for the past month," His voice turned apologetic. "Plus, you can rent out a house and live on your own with that,"

Jess blinked in confusion. "Why wouldn't I be still living with you?" She questioned, tone hurt. Erik gave her a sudden grin.

"We're expecting a child," he replied. "We had both thought our child-bearing days were over, but we conceived soon after your arrival, and we need your room, as it was the former nursery," The young woman's pain turned to shock, then excitement.

"Congratulations," she said solemnly, smiling softly at him, giving him a curtsey. "I will take your advice and find a suitable house to live in," Erik clapped a hand on her shoulder as she straightened.

"You're always welcome in our home," he told her gently, grasping her elbow and bringing her to the back door. "We both think of you as our daughter, and we'd like for our child to know you,"

Later, Jess laid on her bed in her small, one-bedroom house in Winter Town, and for the first time, felt like she belonged.

Chapter Text

Erik led her and Harold to the courtyard where the rest of the household was standing, waiting for the royal retinue. Jessamine had managed to get a pair of pants and a long-sleeved shirt instead of a dress, and the cloak she had bought simply because it was too cold to go without one most days.

"You two are my best workers," Erik told her and Harold in a quiet voice as they lined up in the third row. "I'm required to be here, and I asked for you two to be here." She and Harold shared a confused look; for all their differences, they could get along.

When the carriage (Wheelwagon, Jess chastised herself) arrived, everyone dropped to one, or both, knees. It was eerily quiet as the royal family piled out. Jess saw, from the corner of her eye, the dog helmet that signified the Hound, and smiled to herself.

Banter exchanged between King Baratheon and Lord Stark (she didn't dare use their first names; she was becoming far too willing to stay anyway) before Lord Stark led the King to the crypts to pay his respects. And ask the lord to be his Hand, Jess thought mildly as the rest of the household quickly dispersed.

She flitted around the kitchen with Harold and Erik, kneading bread dough and stirring the stew, as well as keeping an eye on the roasting poultry. Jess quickly remembered, with a stabbing ache, that the family would be ripped apart in less than a month. Jon (whom she'd met through Arya) would go to the Wall, Bran would fall (hopefully not, if Jess had her way), Eddard would die, Sansa would be married to two terrible men (less terrible on Tyrion's part, at least), Robb would be murdered...

Abruptly, as she was just leaving to fetch some wine to be distributed during the feast, Jess realized that she was far too attached to simply settle down and raise children with someone, or try and go to Oldtown and find a way home.

She wanted to help these people, with a passion fiercer than she had ever imagined. Jess swallowed through a knot in her throat as she pattered down the stairs to the cellar and grabbed a crate of Arbor red before going back to the kitchen.

"Jess," Erik called to her as she entered. There was a flurry of movement from a handful of her colleagues as they cut the cooked boar into sections. "You'll need to take some of those to the Great Hall," he ordered. The young woman quickly put the crate on a shelf easily reachable, grabbed four, and hurried back into the cold.

Jess kept her mouth shut as she put one on each of the lower tables, feeling her mouth begin to water as she eyed the food. She pushed it away roughly, forcing herself to think of other things. Like Bran's fall or the assassin that tried to kill him.

The young woman exhaled as she weaved between two others, slipping through the door to the outside. Ice made a home in her chest as she shivered. I should have brought my cloak, she thought glumly, wrapping her arms around herself. At least her shirt had long sleeves.

Later, Jess sat in the kitchen alone with a plate of food, eating awkwardly. She always ended up only being able to eat half of said plate, forcing her to give it to someone else. The side door creaked open and in stepped one Jon Snow. If she looked closely, his direwolf loitered just outside the door. The young woman nearly choked on her spoonful of peas, before quickly swallowing.

He turned to face her, and for a moment, Jess simply stared blankly at him - they were simply acquaintances, after all. "Hello," she finally managed to squeak out. "Did you want something?" That must have made him jolt from his stupor.

He shrugged, opening his mouth to speak. "Just trying to find something for Ghost, is all," Jess felt her lips quirk into a slight smile.

"I think you'd probably know where everything is stored here," she said. She saw his ears redden slightly before fading, and he shuffled over to a shelf that had dried and smoked meat neatly stacked and stored. The awkward atmosphere evaporated relatively quickly as Jon turned to leave.

"Jon," Jess quickly blurted. He faltered, twisting to look at her. "Um, if you ever need someone to talk to or something, I'm here?" For a moment, the teenager simply stared at her in something akin to confusion. Embarrassment made her flush red and she shuffled in her seat.

"Thank you," he replied after a few beats of silence. Jess felt ready to sink into the chair as he left. She sucked in a shuddering breath and let out a groan.

"God, that was painful," she muttered, burying her head in her hands.

The next day, Bran 'fell' from an old, broken tower. All Jess could feel was horror and shame from being unable to help him. It had more or less showed she could change little to nothing; which meant she had to interact with people more directly.

A little over half of the household was readying to leave the next morning, including Erik and Harold, and excluding Jess. Yana, of course, was staying here, as she desired to have her child born in the North, but planned to go south to King's Landing as soon as she was able. Jess had swallowed her words of the future, not wanting to spoil their time of peace.

Meanwhile, Jess visited Bran as much as she could. Arya and Sansa, whom she had also only briefly met, visited several times before they left. Lady Stark stayed by the boy's bedside unless she had to use the privy or eat, as far as the younger woman could tell.

She watched the group leave, smiling wryly as she spotted the gray roan mare she'd used nearly a week before being ridden by Erik himself. Jess let out a sigh and turned away, making a beeline for the kitchen, wondering who was still left.

Only a handful, including Jess herself, were left from the nearly two-dozen kitchen staff. A girl about twelve years old named Tansy and her twin brother Timothy 'Tim', a middle-aged woman that more or less glared at Jess for wearing trousers instead of a dress whose name was Greta Boggs, and a boy of eighteen who was a mute named Julan.

She half-cringed when she saw the four that were left in the room. All of them, including Jess, knew that five people weren't going to be able to work the full kitchen all by themselves. Greta quickly took over Erik's job and directed the twins to hire who they could from Winter Town. By the end of the week, a total of fourteen were working in the kitchen.

Only a dozen was required to work in the kitchen full-time, and luckily Jess wasn't one of that dozen. A part of her thought it was because of Greta really, really hated her, for some unfathomable reason. It was the most likely theory.

Jess used this extra time in the library tower, dead set on reading every book in the library. It was the second day since Lord Stark had left when she found a book on herbology, which she opened, curious.

Some plants were the same, like wheat and thyme, as Earth, but others were different. Sourleaf, for one, seemed like a tobacco plant, but was obviously not, according to the book. Jess never recalled chewing tobacco turning someone's teeth and saliva red, or making people froth at the mouth.

Ever curious, Jess slipped the small book into her pocket and went on her way.

Later that evening, Jess went to visit Bran. As she walked down the hallway to his room, the smell of smoke filled her nostrils, almost making her gag. Two men hurried past her, whom she recognized to be Maester Luwin and Robb Stark.

Fear lit in her chest as she pelted down the hallway, turning the corner to find Bran's door open. Inside, she could see Lady Stark grappling with the hired assassin's blade. Carefully, Jess stepped into the room and picked up an unlit candelabrum on the side table near the door, and slammed it over his head.

There was a resounding crack and for a second Jess worried if she'd killed the man. Then, he moaned and fell to the ground, blade clattering beside him. Lady Stark's face was pale, her hands bloody and shaking as Jess dropped her weapon and moved closer.

"Milady," she whispered softly, causing the older woman to look up at her. "Are you alright?" There was soft growling behind her but Jess knew that it was just one of the direwolves; she needn't even turn around for that.

"Thank you," the other woman murmured, voice cracking as the direwolf made past them and jumped onto the bed. Jess recognized it as Summer as she gently took the redhead's hands and looked at them.

"I'm going to get the maester," the young woman told Lady Stark. "You and Bran will be okay, milady," Quickly, she turned her gaze to the unconscious man, and found a couple of scarves to bind him. Jess knotted the cloth hard and gagged him as well. "I'll get Ser Rodrik, too," she added as she left.

Unease slid down her spine like ice. Jess knew she shouldn't have changed anything... but now, it was too late. A pebble had been thrown into the once-still pond; what would its ripples cause?

Chapter Text

Jessamine sat in the corner, calmly watching Maester Luwin bind Lady Stark's hands. Her pale hazel eyes shifted to look at Ser Rodrik Cassel, who had brought rope to properly tie the assassin's ankles and wrists together. He'd left the gag alone, for now, having obviously decided to wait until the perpetrator woke up.

Two men-at-arms lifted up the assassin and dragged him from the room. Jess's eyes were drawn to where the blade had rolled, almost under the chair she was sitting in. She was inhumanly calm (in her opinion at least) as she leaned down and picked it up. The young woman remembered the blade was made of Valyrian steel but wasn't sure what the handle was from. Some kind of bone, or perhaps pale wood. The blade was also slick with the blood of Lady Stark, and she grimaced as she handed it over to the maester.

"Thank you once again," the lady of the house said to Jessamine after Maester Luwin left. "I'm afraid I don't know your name," The younger woman bowed her head and smiled shyly.

"I'm Jessamine Walter, milady," she replied, standing up and bowing, as one couldn't curtsey very well whilst wearing pants. Lady Stark gave her a slim smile before bowing her head.

"I apologize if I haven't ruled the house in my father's absence like I should have," the older woman murmured quietly, looking at her hands, which were folded in her lap. "I suppose I've been... rather selfish,"

"It's alright, milady," Jess told her gently. "We've been making do, I suppose. It's not been easy, though," she added, before gathering her composure and taking a deep breath. "Also, you haven't been outside often since he... fell," the younger woman couldn't help but hesitate at that. "The people, including myself, are worried about you,"

The other woman let out a sigh. "That is true," Lady Stark muttered, almost inaudible to Jess. Jess wrung her hands and shuffled her feet nervously.

"Lady Stark, may I be excused?" The younger woman asked as she lifted her head to look at her. Briefly, blue eyes met hazel before Jess anxiously averted her eyes.

"You may," the other woman replied. Relieved, Jess turned and made a beeline for the door.

Jessamine later found herself asking one of the men-at-arms to fight with a sword and bow. He looked incredibly hesitant at first, then quickly discovered she was a quick learner and hard worker.

"I'm Edmond," he said, clasping their arms together after their preliminary 'test'. She grinned and told him her own name.

Thus, a friendship was born. Edmond and Jess mostly fought behind a house with a pair of practice sticks. She left their daily sessions with bruises and so did he, fortunately. A handful of the Winter Town kids had come to watch them. Mostly boys, but one or two girls had joined them.

Jess wiped the sweat from her forehead and waved at Edmond as he retreated from her view. It had been well over a month since Bran had been thrown from the tower and a week since the assassin had attempted to kill him. Said man had been executed at some point during the week. The young woman wandered the town square for a few hours, before settling on a bench near the well.

A messenger boy she vaguely recognized ran up to her, panting. "Lady Stark would like to see you in the godswood," he told her breathlessly, dark eyes wide as he leaped away without so much as a thank you. Jess blinked at the retreating figure, before standing and making her way into the castle.

Before long, the young woman found herself in a circle that had once been six but was now seven. She saw Theon Greyjoy give her a look out of the corner of her eye, but she paid him little mind. It was probably because she was wearing pants; few women wore pants unless they had to, for things such as horse riding.

"What I am about to tell you must remain between us," Lady Catelyn began calmly. Her blue eyes flickered around the group and continued. "I don't think Bran fell from that tower. I think he was thrown," Jessamine swallowed as a beat of silence passed.

The conversation continued as Jess remembered it, and quickly after Ser Rodrik said "The Kingsroad is a dangerous place for a woman alone," she added her own two cents.

"If I may, could I come with you, milady?" All eyes turned to her and she reddened under their scrutiny. However, she pressed on. "It wouldn't seem strange of a lady took another woman with her, such as a handmaiden," Jess worried at her lip as she trailed off, looking up at the other woman.

Then, she nodded her head. The darker-haired woman let out an inaudible sigh of relief, feeling like melting into the floor from pure exhaustion. Then Robb Stark asked "What about Bran?" and the conversation continued as normal.

Before long, Jess found herself wearing an ankle-length, long-sleeved maroon dress (with a pair of leggings underneath, thank God) and riding on a sturdy black gelding which she named Benjamin. She had packed mostly essentials - the equivalent of pads, clothing, a sleeping mat, etcetera - but she also took most of her coin, hard-earned, and two different blades. A shortsword and a dirk, both given to her by Edmond as a farewell gift. The much shorter blade she carried with her at all times, and the sword was attached to the saddle.

The trio of riders were soon on the Kingsroad and soon headed south. A knot in her chest that Jess hadn't even realized was there loosened as she inhaled the sharp northern air. A smile played on her lips as she gazed towards the southern horizon.

Chapter Text

It took them a little more than two weeks to get south of the Neck, another week to cross the river (Walder Frey was rather demanding of travelers, after all), and another week to get to King's Landing. Jessamine had convinced Ser Rodrik to help her learn how to fight, which he agreed hesitantly to. However, they had to pause until they returned to Winterfell.

Jess rode behind Ser Rodrik and Lady Catelyn, eyes ever sharp and wary. She was in a new place, even more so than the North. The young woman listened to the older duo's conversation with half and ear. They crossed a bridge and headed into the city.

Two guardsmen approached and Jess frowned, turning her whole attention to them. "We've been instructed to escort you into the city," one said.

"Instructed?" The other woman snapped. Jess's hand inched to the hilt of her sword. "I don't know who's providing you instructions, but-" She was rather abruptly cut off as the one on their left moved over and handed a rolled up piece of paper to her.

"Follow us, Lady Stark,"

Jess found herself in between Lady Catelyn and Ser Rodrik as they clambered up the stairs in a brothel. She nervously entered the room, keeping her eyes steadily on the floor. The young woman tuned out the conversation mercilessly, trying not to shuffle her feet.

Ser Rodrik gently took her by the elbow and led her outside of the building. Jess let out a breath she hadn't even realized she had been holding. "Are you alright?" He asked, gruffly but not unkindly. The young woman sucked in air and blinked at him.

"I will be," she whispered in reply. "I just need some space, is all," He nodded and patted her shoulder.

"You can stay out here and watch the horses," the older man told her calmly. "If anyone mistakes you for someone else, you have my permission to brandish a blade," Jess grinned deviously at him, all nervousness practically gone.

It was no more than three hours later when Lord Stark and Littlefinger came back to the brothel. Jess nearly tumbled into the dirt to give the older man a curtsey, trying not to giggle insanely. He gave her a slim smile, recognition in his eyes, and continued inside with no incident with Litterfinger.

Nervously, Jess rifled through her saddlebag and found a small scroll of paper, some ink, and a pen. She quickly wrote a note for Lord Stark, blowing on it gently to dry it quickly. The young woman rolled it up and put away the ink and pen, hoping this would work.

Jess paced for a while as Rodrik ambled out and began to ready his and the lady's horses. They headed back to the River Gate, or what she assumed to be the River Gate. Lord and Lady Stark followed behind them, murmuring softly.

The young woman took a deep breath as Lady Catelyn headed over to her brown mare and mounted. She headed over to Lord Stark and curtseyed low, keeping her eyes down. "Milord," she murmured. "I have a message for you. I would suggest you take its advice," Jess withdrew the note and handed it to him. Swiftly, she turned around and vaulted onto Benjamin, who nickered softly as she nudged him toward the other two.

Don't trust Littlefinger, Eddard, Jess thought morosely. It will only ever end in ruin.

She sat next to Ser Rodrik, picking at her nails as she saw the door open. Jess saw the conversation between the bard and Tyrion Lannister, and then the dwarf said, "Lady Stark! What an unexpected pleasure," The older woman closed her eyes in either anger or exasperation. Ser Rodrik sighed and Jess winced. "I was sorry to have missed you at Winterfell,"

She knew what was happening next and she was quietly glad she was wearing pants. Jess had also put her shortsword on her hip and cut her hair, putting the rest in a low, short ponytail. If one didn't look too close, she could pass off as a man, or perhaps a boy.

"I was Catelyn Tully the last time I stayed here," Lady Catelyn began. Jess exchanged a glance with Ser Rodrik and followed after him as he slid out of the bench. She casually placed her hand on the pommel of her sword, feeling rather powerful as her lady moved around the room. In the end, the older woman returned to her spot and pointed at Tyrion.

"This man," she continued. "Came into my house as a guest and there conspired to murder my son, a boy of ten," Lady Catelyn paused, glancing around the room. "In the name of King Robert and the good lords you serve, I call upon you to seize him and help me return him to Winterfell to await the King's justice."

Jess found herself drawing her sword with half a dozen men, forcing calm ice into herself. She knew that Tyrion didn't attempt to murder Bran, but who would believe her? There was strong evidence against him, evidence that had convinced even her the last time she'd watched Thrones.

Tyrion was quickly knocked out, bound at the hands and ankles. A hood was put over his head and he was placed on her horse. She kept him steady as the group, which was now roughly ten, headed east, towards the Vale.

Lady Catelyn stopped the group some distance from the Bloody Gate, wanting to talk to the dwarf that was now conscious. He'd annoyed Jess rather terribly, but she kept her mouth shut and didn't hit him. She was no madwoman.

Jess sat on the rock behind Ser Rodrik and Lady Catelyn, keeping an eye on the hills. She paid the conversation between Tyrion and the older woman little mind, trying to see where the mountain clans would come from.

Then a knight crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Jess let out a startled sound as Rodrik, and Lady Catelyn pressed against the stone wall for cover. She dove over to Tyrion, all but ripping the sword from its sheath. "Untie me," the dwarf called to her. "If I die, what's the point?"

Her heartbeat roared in her ears - no he was supposed to say that to Lady Catelyn - and she cut through the rope. The Lannister quickly picked up a shield as a mountain man hurtled toward Jess. The young woman let out a shout and raised her blade, slicing upward.

Her assailant fell on her blade, his mace falling from his hand. Jessamine swallowed and wrestled her sword from the body. She spotted Tyrion smashing a man's skull into the ground and felt like throwing up. She swallowed the bile that threatened to rise, blinking and swaying on her feet. The young woman stared at the body - his head was smashed, not unlike that of a watermelon, with blood pooling around the mess.

"Nothing like a woman after a fight," Bronn said to Tyrion, shoving his thumbs in his belt. The much shorter man shrugged and dropped the shield.

"I'm willing if she is," he replied, nodding his head to Lady Catelyn. Jess rolled her eyes. Men, she thought.

The survivors were two knights from the inn, Bronn, Tyrion, Rodrik, Lady Catelyn, and Jess herself. They continued east, Jess glad for Benjamin - he hadn't been spooked by the fighting, though he had moved away from it.

Before long, a group of knights of the Vale approached. Jess quickly recognized the Arryn flag from where she rode just ahead of Tyrion. The knight and Lady Catelyn quickly struck up a conversation, which was more like a fight than a speech.

The wind buffeted around them, which reminded Jess fondly of both the North and Oklahoma, the state which she was raised and born in and would likely never see again. However, there was the scent of salt, which she assumed to be the ocean. The young woman had never seen any ocean, except in movies and pictures.

She and the men waited outside, trying to pass the time. She and Rodrik briefly sparred, her winning one time of three by an inch. In the end, they were called into the High Hall as optional attendees. Bronn went, and Jess did, too, though she already knew what would happen. Bronn smirked during the dwarf's first speech, and Jess genuinely wanted to know what he did with a honeycomb and a jackass in a brothel.

She turned to Bronn, raising a brow at him silently. He shrugged at her and turned his gaze to the trial. "Open the Moon Door," Lady Arryn told two servants. A gust of wind swept through the room, making Jess wince slightly.

Ser Vardis quickly became Lady Arryn's champion, and when Tyrion asked for a volunteer, Jess's stomach dropped to her feet. The Knights of the Vale shook their heads in disgust or reluctance. Jess opened her mouth to offer, but Bronn stepped forward.

"I'll stand for the dwarf," he said, a slight smirk on his face. The two combatants readied and Jess swallowed as the fight proceeded as the show had. The sound of metal hitting metal rang throughout the room as a tense feeling settled down.

It ended with Bronn stabbing Ser Vardis through the neck and throwing him out the Moon Door. "Is it over?" Lord Robin asked his mother in the silence. A beat passed, then another.

"You don't fight with honor," Lady Arryn snarled. Bronn turned to face her, brows raised.

"No," he replied, then looked down the Moon Door, gesturing. "He did," Jess managed to spot Ser Rodrik up above as Tyrion was freed by the gaoler. Mord, if she remembered correctly. Rodrik tossed Tyrion a pouch - if it was gold or something else, she wasn't sure.

Then, he tossed it to Mord, and Jess remembered that yes, it was, in fact, gold. She ended up following Bronn and Tyrion outside, sending an apologetic glance to Lady Catelyn.

"Lannister," she called out to him. He pivoted to look at her. Bronn's step faltered. "I'm guessing you'd need supplies to get to King's Landing, or Casterly Rock, or wherever it is you're going?"

"Yes, I believe we would," Tyrion replied. "Who may you be? I don't believe I've ever asked," She gazed at him, considering. Then, she smiled wryly.

"Jessamine Walter," the young woman replied, moving over to the duo. "The horses you rode on are technically still yours, since their previous owner is dead. I've some silver that I can give you to buy whatever you need,"

She counted out ten of her twenty silver - some had been given to her by Ser Rodrik and others she'd found on the ground in King's Landing. Then, she tossed the smaller pouch over to him.

"Why don't you come with us?" Bronn asked though Jess could see the curiosity veiled by a genuine layer of lust. The young woman rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

"That's awfully nice, but I'm sworn to the Starks. I do know that Tyrion isn't a part of the plot to kill Bran," Jess told them. She nearly swore aloud and shuffled her feet when he snapped his head up to look at her. Bad idea, why did I nearly reveal myself?  She asked herself silently, trying not to grimace.

"What do you mean?" The dwarf asked with narrowed eyes. She shifted uncomfortably and leaned to whisper in his ear. One hand was awkwardly braced on his shoulder as she kneeled.

"I'd say it out loud, but little birds like to chirp," Jess murmured. "I have visions of a sort. I saw Bran ...fall out of that tower. However, remember that people are ever-changing, even if they like to believe they aren't,"

She stood back up and moved away. Tyrion was looking at her strangely, then shook his head. "I suppose you have our thanks, my lady," he said simply. Jess merely gave him a wry grin.

"It's my pleasure, Lord Tyrion," she replied. Later, she watched them ride away until they became tiny pinpricks, and sighed heavily. The two knights that had survived the clansmen attack had taken off to their respective lords, so now it was just the group of three that had started the journey.

Now, Jess wondered. What next?

Chapter Text

Jess rode on Benjamin behind the other two, as usual, as the horses trotted into Robb Stark's war camp; the sight filled her with an odd mix of anger and disappointment. She quickly dismounted, helping Lady Catelyn off her own horse. Jess handed the reins of the trio of horses to a young man she at first did not recognize. Then, she knew that it was Gared Tuttle, squire to Lord Gregor Forrester. She paled, but the young man gave her a smile and let the horses away.

She had bound her hair into a small bun the size of a golf ball on the back of her head, keeping it out of the way. Jess wore what she had in the Eyrie; a pair of pants, boots, a long-sleeved shirt, leather vest, braces, and shoulder pads, and a light fur cloak, simply because dresses were a bit impractical if you were going to war. Jess stood politely to Lady Catelyn's right, listening to the conversation between the men and the woman.

Before long, she followed after Rodrik and a man who she remembered to be Greatjon Umber away from the tent. Then, she tracked down the horses. Ultimately, she found them in the makeshift corral with half a dozen other horses. Benjamin came to her nearly automatically. Jess smiled and gently rubbed his muzzle.

"He's a nice horse," someone said behind her. The young woman jumped up in shock and whirled around, hand ready to draw her blade. However, it was just Gared Tuttle. She instinctively relaxed, knowing well that he was a good man - at least, that was how /she/ had played him.

"Sorry," Jess apologized. "I was traveling in the Vale and we got attacked by mountain clansmen. It's a little difficult to forget," The man, who was maybe a year younger than her, smiled.

"It's alright," he replied, moving up next to her. She turned around and ran her fingers through Benjamin's dark mane. "What's your name?" The brunet asked curiously as he watched the woman and the horse.

"Jessamine Walter," Jess said. "And my friend here is Benjamin," She patted his neck. "Who might you be?"

"I'm Gared. Gared Tuttle," he told her. Several moments of silence passed. "Where are you from? You have a really strange accent," Jess was caught flat-footed as Ben pulled away from her and went back to the other two horses he'd seemingly become well acquainted with.

She stammered senselessly for several minutes before managing to squeak out, "Nowhere." and flushed red with embarrassment. "I mean," Jess cleared her throat and tried to gather what little dignity she had left. "I'm not from Westeros... I'm very, very far from here,"

"Essos?" Gared wondered. Jess shook her head and sighed.

"Far west of Westeros," she replied. "It's not part of the known world, and if we tried to sail there, we would die before we reached land," She saw the brunet wince out of the corner of her eye. The young woman let out a sigh. "Let's just say something went wrong, and I ended up here without so much as a by-your-leave from the gods or who knows what else,"

Gared glanced over at her. "I'm sorry for your losses," he said with a baffled sort of tone. Jess gave him a soft smile.

"It's not your fault, but thank you," she told him sincerely, before turning and walking away. He could only watch her as she left in slight amazement.

The camp continued to swell in number as one, then two months passed. Various houses joined them, including the Boltons and Mormonts. Jess reflexively bristled at the idea of being anywhere near Roose Bolton or his bastard son.

The young woman had been more or less dismissed from her duty as Lady Catelyn's 'handmaiden', so she was free to do as she wished. For now, it seemed like nothing. She was tempted to go back to Winterfell, but that seemed as unsafe as going to war.

She stood next to Ser Rodrik as they waited for Lady Catelyn to return from the Twins. Two hours later, she waited for the news, sitting on a log outside. Rodrik moved closer and glanced over at her. "Robb has accepted the terms," he told her calmly. Jess smiled at the older man, but quickly let the expression fall from her face.

"So we're crossing the Twins," she concluded, standing up. The older man gave a nod towards her in acknowledgment. She pulled on her gloves. "When are we leaving?"

"Now."

Jess carefully held the reins of Benjamin with one hand as she watched the woods carefully. She knew that the Battle of the Green Fork had happened, or was currently happening in its later stages. Now, the main force was waiting in the Whispering Wood while a smaller force lured the rest of the Lannister army into the wood.

To her left was another woman, whose name was Wynn Whitewater, whose father (a bastard who became a knight, therefore entitled to a surname) was sworn to House Mormont. They had become rather swift friends as both women and soldiers, though more unwilling on Jess's part. Wynn was lankier than Jess, with brown hair and brown eyes, more or less as plain as the Northern tundra, but pretty in her own ways.

To Jess's right, and surprise was no other than Edmond. They were both excited to see each other, resulting in a friendly hug and a spar. As it turned out, he'd been offered a spot in the force, as all men-at-arms in Winterfell. Only he and three others had decided to go, out of the forty that was usually stationed in the castle.

Jess was almost sad to know that Gared, who had become good friends with her, was left in the camp with most of the squires. He might've enjoyed being an archer, she thought as she glanced over at Edmond. He was sharpening his longsword, and she could hear Wynn pull out her ax.

Sounds of horses and battle soon encompassed the forest and before long, Jess found herself in the heat of battle. She pressed her heels against Benjamin's sides and charged. Her sword was quickly drawn and not long after, she clotheslined a man from his horse, splitting his stomach open.

Her mind went a little hazy and could only feel the sword in her hand and Benjamin flexing underneath her. By the time the fight was done, she discovered, through Edmond and Wynn, who had been by her side the majority of the time, that her kill count had been fifteen but probably more.

She threw up afterward, nerves wracking her being. It felt worrying at how easily she killed, how she had someone's life in her hands, even if he was coming at her to kill. Jess wiped the back of her mouth and closed her eyes, trying to calm her stomach.

Following the battle, Jess was looking through the dead with Wynn, who had been lined up, separated by House or otherwise unaffiliated. Nearly all of the Lannisters were dead or dying, a handful of Silent Sisters weaving through the line. There was only a handful from Houses Umber, Stark, and Karstark.

She crouched near Wynn, who glanced over at her. "Some of these men might have coin," Jess suggested. "I wouldn't mind filling my purse," Wynn shook her head in either amusement or bemusement or bemused amusement, it was hard to tell.

"I suppose that's true," the older woman said. "I'm just looking for a trophy," Jess raised her brows in slight shock. She hadn't taken Wynn for a trophy keeper.

So, that's how they went - Jess looted whatever valuables they had whilst Wynn cut lions from shirts and even a stray tooth. That had disgusted Jess, just a bit.

She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, a wry, grim smile on her face as she gazed towards the hazy horizon.