12 Chapter 9

IMAGE - 

Jon's POV: 

In the courtyard of Winterfell, the rhythmic clashing of wooden swords echoed across the courtyard as Robb Stark and Theon Greyjoy sparred with practiced precision. Jon Snow watched from the sidelines, his gaze flickering between the two combatants, but his thoughts were elsewhere, consumed by the memory of a certain red-eyed girl named Yuna.

Despite his efforts to remain focused on the training session before him, Jon's mind kept drifting back to Yuna. Her beauty was striking, ethereal even, but it was more than just her physical appearance that captivated him and Jon couldn't help but feel drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

Yuna's eyes were like rubies, vibrant and mesmerizing, a stark contrast to her otherwise enigmatic demeanour. The two times he caught her looking at him, he felt as though he was being drawn into an abyss of mystery and allure. There was something about her gaze, something that softened whenever it fell upon him, as if she found a peculiar amusement in his presence.

Never in in his whole life has he seen or heard someone with red eyes before, sure he heard of the Targaryen's purple eyes but red, it was something very new. Did people in Essos have red eyes? he wondered. Of course, he couldn't say much as the people of Westeros knew very little about the world and the civilisation beyond their continent. It was all but a mystery shrouded in darkness.

As he watched Robb and Theon exchange blows, Jon felt his heart quicken its pace, a strange mixture of excitement and apprehension coursing through his veins. Something about her made his heart flutter for the first time in his life. He remembered the way she carried herself with a quiet confidence, her movements graceful yet purposeful, as if she was constantly aware of the world around her.

And her sword, was also something unique and unusual that he has never seen in his entire life. The scabbard was pure black but something about it made it seem like it had a shimmer of glow to it. He was used to the usual brown leather scabbards of the long swords but that was obvious it was made from a very talented craftsman. He wished he had asked her about it.

There was a depth to Yuna that intrigued Jon, a sense that there was more to her than met the eye. He wondered about the stories she carried with her, the experiences that had shaped her into the enigmatic figure she was now.

As Robb landed a solid blow on Theon's shoulder, snapping Jon back to the present, he realised that his fascination with Yuna was not something he could easily shake off. She had left an indelible mark on him. Seeing the end of Robb and Theon's spare, he found it to be his turn to spare Robb.

Jon then made his way over to the boys.

It was when the feeling of uneasiness had settled in the pit of his stomach. The thought of Yuna being married weighed heavily on him, casting a shadow over his earlier fascination with her. He chided himself for feeling this way, reminding himself that he had only just met her and had no right to be affected by her marital status.

But try as he might, Jon couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment that lingered within him. It was as if a door had been closed before he even had the chance to open it, leaving him feeling strangely hollow and incomplete.

As he approached the boys, he could hear Theon's voice carrying through the courtyard, speaking teasingly about Yuna. Jon's attention snapped to his half-brother and Theon, a mix of curiosity and apprehension swirling within him.

"What are you two gossiping about now?" Jon asked, his tone casual despite the turmoil brewing beneath the surface.

Theon grinned mischievously, shooting a knowing glance at Robb before turning his attention back to Jon. "Just discussing the mysterious Lady Yuna," he replied, his voice laced with amusement. "She's certainly captured the attention of more than a few men around here." His striking blue eyes turned to Robb and then Jon.

"Robb here couldn't stop thinking about her last night. Her name would pass his lips with a whisper" Theon said teasingly in which Robb flushed red and glared dangerously at Theon. It didn't need to take a genius to understand what this lustful Greyjoy meant.

His expression tightened as Theon Greyjoy's words hit him like a verbal blow. The accusation cut deep, challenging his integrity and honour. In response, Robb's eyes flashed with indignation, a fiery rebuttal ready on his tongue.

"I would never stoop so low as to entertain such thoughts," Robb retorted, his voice laced with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "Especially towards a married woman. Have some respect, Theon."

The Greyjoy boy smirked, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Oh, come off it, Robb. We all know how captivated you were by her. Riding your horse after her and demanding to know her name. No shame in admitting it."

Robb's jaw clenched as he fought to maintain his composure. He refused to let Theon's insinuations get the better of him. "I merely wanted to learn her name out of curiosity, nothing more. There's no need to twist it into something sordid."

As Robbs words echoed in the courtyard, Jon couldn't help but feel a pang of discomfort deep within him. The realisation that Robb, his steadfast and honourable older brother, might also harbor feelings for Yuna stirred an unexpected emotion within Jon. He grappled with a sense of insecurity, a nagging doubt that gnawed at the edges of his confidence.

Observing Robb's persistent pursuit to uncover Yuna's identity had left Jon unsettled. It was the first time he had witnessed Robb show such interest in a woman, and it made Jon question his own standing. Robb's striking features and charismatic demeanour had always garnered attention from the young maidens of Winterfell, while Jon often felt overshadowed in comparison.

The revelation that Robb might share Jon's fascination with Yuna sparked a twinge of jealousy within him, mingled with a sense of resignation. He couldn't fault Robb for being drawn to her; after all, Yuna possessed a magnetic allure that seemed to captivate everyone she encountered. Even he found himself being allured by her beautiful eyes.

As Jon grappled with his conflicting emotions, he silently vowed to bury his burgeoning feelings for Yuna deep within him. The woman was long gone, probably already on a boat to Essos and not to mention her marital status.

Theon's grin widened, relishing in his ability to rile up his friend. "Whatever you say, Robb. But we all saw how you couldn't take your eyes off her. Can't blame you, though. She was quite the beauty." Theon's blue eyes shifted over to Jon and there was a hint of annoyance. "And yet she seems to have made quite an impression on you, Jon Snow."

Jon bristled at Theon's words, his cheeks flushing slightly with embarrassment. "I didn't notice. I just assumed she was laughing at my pronunciation" he spoke, though even he could hear the uncertainty in his own voice.

"That's how girls are when they want you fucking your cock into their cunts. Not much for a married woman I say" Theon scoffed but in response got a frown from both Robb and Jon.

Feeling a surge of defensiveness rise within him, Jon spoke up, "She's just finding it funny. There is nothing to it" he said quickly, hoping to dismiss any further speculation about Yuna.

Theon analysed Jon's behaviour, his blue eyes not leaving Jon's brown eyes once. A mischievous grin perched his lips and scoffed. "The bastard's fallen in love. Robb you got yourself a competition here."

"There is no competition, Theon. Jon and I are not fighting for a woman who is already married" Robb said, his tone dead serious as he gave Theon a hard stern look warning him to end the conversation there. "So enough about lady Yuna. Let's focus on our training and leave her be. She's not our concern."

"Her tits were a concern. Did you see how big and bouncy it looked. I want to know how she is able to have it up and placed like that."

"Come on, Theon," Jon interjected, his tone admonishing. "That's enough of that. Show some respect."

Robb remained silent, but his disapproval was evident in the furrow of his brow and the tight set of his jaw. He had little patience for Theon's crude behaviour, especially when it veered into outright disrespect.

Theon, sensing the tension his words had created, shrugged nonchalantly, as if dismissing their concerns with a wave of his hand.

"Just making an observation," he quipped, his tone unrepentant. "No harm in a bit of curiosity, is there?"

Robb and Jon ignored him and went off to spare together.

The two faced each other, swords in hand, wrapped tightly around the hilt.

The older Stark brother gazed softly into his little brother's eyes. "About what Theon said..." Robb felt a little uncomfortable saying what Theon meant and he took a gulp down to clear his throat, feeling a little embarrassed by it even though it never happened.

"I know" Jon smiled, assuring his older brother that he knew that Theon was just making stuff up.

"I don't want you to think so poorly of me Jon." Robb smiled back feeling relief that Jon understood him well.

"You know I never will."

They both looked into each other's eyes, both filled with admiration towards one another.

"Ready to get plundered to the ground" Robb said with an amused smile crossing his lips.

"Not before I get you first" Jon said back.

The two ran towards each other and their wooden blades clashed together. Robb and Jon engaged in their sparring match, their movements were swift and precise, each strike calculated and met with a countermove.

But amidst the intensity of their bout, Jon couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Daggering eyes bore into him from across the courtyard, and he knew without looking that it was Lady Catelyn Stark. Her silent presence was enough to unsettle him, distracting him from the fight at hand. As Jon's focus wavered, he made a conscious decision to weaken his strikes, allowing Robb to gain the upper hand. It wasn't lost on Jon that Lady Catelyn despised him, and he didn't wish to give her any reason to further criticize him.

Robb, seizing the opportunity, pressed his advantage with renewed determination, his strikes growing more forceful as Jon's defences faltered. Despite Jon's skill with a sword, he found himself unable to match Robb's relentless assault.

It was a calculated move on Jon's part to let Robb win, a silent acknowledgment of the tension between him and Lady Catelyn.

Jon soon found himself on the ground with Robb's wooden blade pointing at him and a pleasing smile on his face. "I told you didn't I" the Stark heir said before lending a hand to his little brother.

Jon didn't hesitate to take it.

Robb helped Jon to his feet after the bout, Jon felt a surge of gratitude for his brother's support. A pat on the back from Robb, accompanied by a word of praise for a well-fought match, warmed Jon's heart. However, his brown eyes strayed to where he felt the weight of Lady Catelyn's disapproving gaze.

As Jon met Lady Catelyn's disdainful gaze, he felt a pang of hurt and unworthiness deep within him. Her look made him feel small, as though he didn't belong in Winterfell, or even among the Starks. It was a reminder of his status as a bastard, a constant shadow that trailed him wherever he went.

With a heavy heart, Jon looked away, unable to bear the weight of her disapproval any longer. His steps were slow and heavy as he walked away from the training grounds, the sense of loneliness and rejection weighing heavily on his shoulders. Despite his efforts to prove himself, he couldn't shake the feeling that he would always be an outsider in his own home.

Robb walked beside Jon, he gently leaned his head towards him "You let me win, didn't you?" he said softly.

Jon's head snapped his head to Robb and his eyes widened in shock. He seemed ashamed for having Robb find about it.

Robb offered him a wry smile.

"Maybe just a little." Jon shrugged.

Theon sauntered over, a smirk playing on his lips. "Not surprised you lost, considering how you were easily distracted, Snow. Maybe you need a lesson or two from Robb on how to focus."

Jon wasn't fazed by Theon's words and only responded back with a calm demeanour. "at least my focus is the problem and not my sword skill such as yours."

Theon shot a sharp glare at Jon.

Robb stepped in, aiming to diffuse the tension. "Come on, lads. Let's not start another row. We've had enough excitement for one day."

Theon's grin widened. "Oh, I wouldn't want to upset Lord Stark's precious bastard," he jabbed, earning an irritated glare from Jon.

Ignoring Theon's taunts, Robb led the way as they strolled off, the three of them engaged in conversation about their training and plans for the evening. Yet, despite the camaraderie, Jon couldn't shake the feeling of Catelyn Stark's disapproving gaze lingering on him, casting a shadow over the otherwise pleasant afternoon.

That night, the dim light of the hearth flickered gently against the stone walls of Jon's room, casting dancing shadows that seemed to waltz across the cold surface. Winterfell's ancient stones retained the chill of the northern air, leaving the room enveloped in a cool embrace that seemed to seep into every corner.

Despite the cold, the warmth of the crackling fire in the hearth provided a comforting contrast. Its golden glow bathed the room in a soft light, offering a semblance of coziness in the otherwise stark surroundings. The flames danced and swayed, casting intricate patterns on the walls and ceiling, their gentle crackling the only sound in the stillness of the night.

Jon lay on his bed, the fur blankets draped over him providing a shield against the chill. The softness of the furs and the warmth of the blankets offered a small refuge from the wintry cold that permeated the air. Yet, even as he lay cocooned in the warmth, his thoughts drifted back to her.

He couldn't shake the memory of her, the mysterious girl with eyes like rubies and a smile that seemed to light up the darkest corners of his mind. He recalled the way she had looked at him, her gaze softening with an unspoken understanding that seemed to transcend words.

As he lay there, lost in thought, he remembered the foreign words she had spoken, the unfamiliar cadence of her voice lingering in his ears. He wondered what language it was, what country she came from that shaped the sound of her words.

But more than the language, it was her smile that stayed with him, a fleeting moment of warmth in the cold expanse of Winterfell. He couldn't help but wonder about her, about the secrets she held and the mysteries she carried with her. And as he stared at the wall, bathed in the flickering light of the hearth, he found himself longing for answers that seemed just out of reach.

As Jon lay there, frustration gnawed at him like a persistent itch he couldn't scratch. The weight of his thoughts bore down on him, pressing against his chest like a heavy stone. He cursed softly under his breath, the expletive a release of pent-up tension.

"Damn it," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, "Why can't I stop thinking about her?"

With a resigned sigh, he slid beneath the covers, pulling them up to his chin in a futile attempt to ward off the turmoil brewing within him. Tomorrow morning promised a hunt with his father and brother, and he knew he needed a clear mind and rested body to make the most of it. Yet, despite his best efforts to push her from his thoughts, the image of the mysterious woman lingered, her presence like a stubborn shadow refusing to be banished.

"Seven hells she's married," he reminded himself bitterly, his jaw clenched with frustration. "I shouldn't be thinking about her like this."

With a frustrated groan, Jon buried his face in his hands, his fingers tangling in the tousled strands of his hair. He could feel the weight of her memory pressing down on him, a relentless burden he couldn't shake.

"I need to forget about her," he resolved, the words more a desperate plea than a declaration of intent. "I have to focus on tomorrow's hunt."

Closing his eyes, Jon willed himself to find solace in sleep, to escape the relentless tug of her memory. He knew he couldn't afford to dwell on thoughts of a married woman, especially one as enigmatic as her. But as he drifted into the realm of dreams, he couldn't shake the feeling of her lingering presence, a haunting echo that followed him into the depths of the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The soft glow of dawn cast gentle hues across Winterfell's courtyard as the inhabitants of the castle stirred to life. Jon Snow emerged from the warmth of his chambers, his breath misting in the crisp morning air. Today was the day of the hunt, a tradition cherished by the Stark family and their household.

As Jon made his way to the stables, he couldn't shake the lingering thoughts of the mysterious girl with red eyes, Yuna. Despite his efforts to push her from his mind, she remained a persistent presence, her enigmatic aura captivating his thoughts.

He rubbed his tired eyes, his was lucky enough tot get enough sleep but it was hard when the mysterious girl was haunting his mind all night.

Arriving at the stables, Jon set about preparing his horse for the day's excursion. The sleek black steed nickered softly, sensing his master's anticipation. As he fastened the saddle and checked the reins, Jon felt a sense of excitement building within him. The hunt offered a welcome reprieve from the weight of his responsibilities, a chance to lose himself in the thrill of the chase.

Just as Jon was lost in his preparations, a familiar voice broke through his reverie. Turning, he saw Arya Stark approaching, her features illuminated by the soft light of morning.

"Jon!" Arya bounded towards him, her face alight with excitement. Despite the early hour, Arya's energy was infectious, and Jon couldn't help but smile at her exuberance.

"Arya," he greeted her warmly, setting aside his task to greet her properly. "What brings you out here so early?"

Arya shrugged; her eyes gleaming with mischief. "I couldn't sleep," she confessed, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of her lips. "And I heard you were getting ready for the hunt. Thought I'd come and see if you needed any help."

Jon chuckled, ruffling her hair affectionately. "Always eager to lend a hand, aren't you?"

"Yep!" she said cheerfully.

Jon hesitated, knowing Lady Catelyn's strict stance on Arya's involvement in such activities. "I appreciate the offer, Arya, but I don't think Lady Catelyn would approve," he admitted reluctantly.

Disappointment flickered across Arya's features, but she nodded understandingly. "I know," she murmured, her gaze dropping to the ground.

Jon's heart went out to his sister, empathizing with her desire for adventure and freedom. "I know it's not much consolation, but you're not alone in feeling that way," he reassured her, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder gently. "Maybe one day things will be different."

He understood how much Arya was very different from the rest of the noble girls. She was much more adventurous, never minded getting her clothes dirty for the fun of it.

Arya offered him a small smile, gratitude shining in her eyes. "Thanks, Jon," she said softly.

Jon returned her smile, a silent promise in his eyes. "Anytime, Arya," he replied warmly, before turning back to his task with renewed determination.

"I still find it unfair though" Arya said with a pout, kicking a pebble as she did. "I'm stuck inside sewing with Sansa and that boring Septa Mordane, while everyone else gets to go hunting. Why do they get all the fun?"

Jon couldn't help but chuckle at Arya's spirited complaint. "Septa Mordane can be a bit... tedious," he admitted, trying to be diplomatic. "But sewing is an important skill for a lady."

Arya rolled her eyes dramatically. "I don't want to be a lady," she declared defiantly. "I want to ride a horse with a bow and arrow in my hands, just like you and Robb. I want to be out there, feeling the wind in my hair and the thrill of the hunt."

Her words resonated with Jon, stirring memories of his own desire for adventure and freedom. He could understand her frustration with the constraints placed upon her. "I know, Arya," he said softly. "But you'll have your chance for adventure someday. Until then, try to make the most of your sewing lessons."

"I could probably learn to use it to sew that old woman's mouth for once" She grumbled under breath.

Jon heard her and chuckled to himself.

"I'll find other ways to keep myself occupied until then."

Jon nodded, a pang of guilt tugging at his heart. He hated seeing Arya confined by the expectations of society, knowing that she longed for adventure beyond the castle walls. But for now, all he could offer her was his understanding and support.

"We'll go riding together when I come back, I promise," Jon reassured her, his voice filled with determination.

Arya's smile widened at his words, a spark of hope igniting in her eyes. "I'll hold you to that, Jon Snow," she declared, her spirit undimmed by the limitations placed upon her.

As Arya turned to leave, Jon watched her go with a heavy heart. He couldn't shake the feeling of injustice that lingered in the air, knowing that his sister's fiery spirit was meant for so much more than the confines of Winterfell's walls.

Jon finished preparing his black horse for the hunt when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching from behind. Turning, he saw Robb and Theon making their way towards him, their faces eager with anticipation.

"Morning, Jon," Robb greeted him with a grin, clapping him on the shoulder as he reached his side. "Ready for a day of hunting?"

Jon returned his brother's smile, a sense of camaraderie warming his heart. "Always, Robb," he replied, his gaze drifting to the horizon where the first light of dawn painted the sky in hues of pink and gold. "It's a fine morning for it."

Theon, ever the jester, chimed in with a smirk. "Let's hope you've improved your focus from yesterday. We don't need you accidently shooting the wring target" he teased, earning a playful shove from Robb.

"Leave him alone, Theon," Robb admonished with a laugh, shooting Jon a conspiratorial wink. "We all know who the best hunter in Winterfell is."

Jon rolled his eyes good-naturedly at their banter, grateful for the easy camaraderie he shared with his friends. Despite their differences, they had formed a tight-knit bond over the years, bound together by their shared experiences and the brotherhood they had forged.

"We'll see about that," Jon replied with a smirk, a competitive glint in his eye. "I'm feeling lucky today."

As they made their final preparations, the courtyard buzzed with activity as the other members of their hunting party gathered, their voices mingling with the sounds of horses being saddled and weapons being checked.

Jon felt a surge of excitement coursing through his veins as he mounted his horse, his anticipation growing with each passing moment. Today promised the thrill of the chase, the rush of the hunt, and the camaraderie of his fellow hunters.

Jon urged the black steed forward, making their way towards the gates. Jon, Robb, and Theon found themselves joined by their father, Lord Eddard Stark, who was already mounted on his own steed, a majestic warhorse. The rest of the hunting party, comprised of knights, guards, and loyal retainers, gathered behind them, their horses pawing at the ground in anticipation.

Ned Stark's steely gaze surveyed the group, his presence commanding respect and authority. "Are we ready?" he asked, his voice carrying across the courtyard.

"Aye, Father," Robb replied, his voice strong and confident. "We're ready."

Ned nodded, his expression grave. "Remember, this is more than just a hunt. We're here to put food on the table for Winterfell and its people."

Theon scoffed; his tone flippant. "And to prove who's the best shot, of course," he added with a smirk, getting both shakes of head from Jon and Robb.

With a firm nod from Ned, the gates of Winterfell swung open, and the hunting party rode out into the crisp morning air, their horses' hooves clattering against the cobblestones as they set off on their journey into the Wolfswood. 

Akame's POV: 

Few days Earlier ~

Akame found herself wondering the road again, walking along side Aragorn as they passed by merchants or other travellers. She decided to start first at the North and circle around before heading south again.

It had been only a few days after the encounter with the Stark children and the Greyjoy kid. She has been on the road since then. Her first plan was to travel the world and learn about its secret and magical places before settling in a tiny little village either in Westeros or Essos. It really didn't bother her which one but for now she was considering Essos as the two villages she went through were either too smelly for her nose, had really horrible people, or was just brothel wonderland for men and not to mention how she didn't seem to fit in either of them.

She stood out to much.

But she couldn't judge just yet, she has the whole of Westeros to jot down first before she makes a quick judgement but it would probably be the same in Essos as well.

Ancient civilisation were the same in some ways.

As the winding road led her to another small village, the sight before her painted a picture of medieval simplicity. Stone and wood houses stood weathered by time, their structures telling tales of the countless seasons they had endured. The dirt road, trodden by the footsteps of villagers, wagons and horses, was a muddy path snaking through the heart of the settlement.

The air was thick with the scent of a hard day's labour, mingled with the smoke rising from chimneys and the earthy aroma of livestock. Akame, with her heightened senses, could discern the nuances in the air—hints of freshly cut wood, the distant smell of manure, and the warmth of hearth fires.

Akame still smelt the shit and she wrinkled her nose in disgust. It would probably never be something she would get used to.

God should have given her a gas mask as well to protect her from the stench.

The lone soldier turned to her black stallion, "Shall we go in or just go around it?" Akame asked him. In response the horse huffed and proceed to walk toward it leading Akame along.

"Inside it is" Akame murmured as she followed Aragorn into town.

Aragon's hooves clattered against the uneven stones as they traversed the village. Children played near the houses, their laughter echoing through the narrow alleys however they would stop and glance in awe and wonder at Akame, their innocent eyes not leaving her figure. Villagers cast curious glances at the newcomer, their faces weathered by the harshness of life in the North.

The lone solider lowered her head, pulling the hanfu hat down to cover her most of her upper face. It was good having this on her, it avoided people peeking at her face and her foreign features. She had found it behind one of the brown sacks. How she didn't see it before, she doesn't know. 

But it stood out the most.

Akame observed the villagers going about their daily routines, the rhythmic sounds of hammering and the distant hum of conversation filling the air. Her eyes, hidden behind the red strands of her hair, scanned the simple yet sturdy structures that composed the village. Despite the modest appearance, there was a sense of unity and resilience in the faces of the people.

A local market square came into view, where traders displayed their goods on makeshift stalls. The wares ranged from freshly harvested vegetables to handcrafted tools and trinkets. Villagers bartered and chatted, creating a lively atmosphere that contrasted with the sombre backdrop of the Northern landscape.

Akame continued her solitary journey through the medieval village, her unique attire drawing curious glances and whispers from the locals. Whispers spread about the mysterious woman adorned in expensive materials. Some speculated she might be a noble, a sight rarely seen in their modest village. As she navigated the narrow, muddy pathways, the scent of wet earth and the echoes of villagers going about their daily routines filled the air.

Suddenly, Akame sensed a disturbance to her side. Without warning, a woman stumbled and fell directly in front of Aragon, Akame's horse. The woman, dressed in simple peasant garb, now bore the stains of the mud on her attire. She looked dishevelled and distraught.

"You clumsy fool! What are you doing here?" he bellowed at the fallen woman. "I'm not hiring women! If you want money so badly, go sell yourself in the brothel. We don't need your kind here!"

Akame, normally indifferent to the struggles of others, found herself transfixed by this unfolding scene. She observed quietly, the man's harsh words and the woman's desperate plea forming a dissonant harmony in the medieval backdrop.

"I-I'm sorry, sir. Please, I need work. My child is sick, and I can't afford—"

"Enough excuses! Leave before I drag you out myself," the man interrupted, his tone harsh and unforgiving.

As Akame watched the scene unfold, the man's harsh words continued to echo through the village square. The fallen woman, now desperate and near tears, pleaded for understanding, explaining her dire circumstances.

The man, undeterred by her pleas, scoffed and retorted, "Husband? Where is your man, woman? Shouldn't he be taking care of you? It's shameful to see you trying to do a man's job. This is no place for the likes of you!"

Akame's eyes narrowed, and her stoic expression turned into a glare.

The woman went silent and her eyes fell down wards and tears streamed down her face. She looked helpless and vulnerable, sitting on mud layered in dirt, her face worn out by sleepless nights.

The lone soldier observing the woman realised that there was no husband in the picture and that she was all alone with her sick child.

The man spat at the ground. "Women trying to act like men disgust me" he sneered with disgust.

The lone solider watching from a slight distance, did let the man's insult towards the woman anger her. She stayed calm and composed and observed the woman with pity.

Akame knew how hard it was for women in these era's to live with men being dominant and sexist. Everyone that stood and watched would say nothing either would agree with the man or silently walk away. They all had the same mind set in a way. That's how society ran in ancient times.

'No matter where I am, the world will always be cruel to women'.

The lone solider calmly approached the distraught woman sitting on the ground with hope lost from her eyes, ignoring the stares from the people and the shocked eyes of the man. Each step she took was like a whisper upon the earth, soundless yet profound. Her kimono-like attire, adorned with intricate patterns of a dragon, billows gently in the breeze, accentuating her ethereal presence.

The veil of her hanfu hat danced around her, trailing behind like a silken ribbon caught in the wind. It flutters and floats with every movement, framing her delicate features like a halo of light. She moves with a fluidity that seems almost otherworldly, as if she's not quite bound by the constraints of earthly existence.

Her long, jet-black hair cascades down her back like a waterfall of silk, flowing effortlessly with the veil of her hanfu hat.

She stops beside the woman and stretches out a hand for her. The woman gazed up with glossy brown eyes and stared deeply into the soldier's red eyes. To those who merely glanced upon her, her gaze appeared as an endless void, a void that seemed to swallow the light around it. It was as though she had seen too much, endured too much, until the very essence of life had been drained from her being.

Her eyes held no twinkle of joy, no glimmer of hope; they were pools of emptiness reflecting the pain she carried within.

But for those who dared to look deeper, to truly see beyond the surface, there was something more. Buried beneath the layers of sorrow and despair, there lay a subtle warmth, a flicker of humanity that refused to be extinguished. It was in the moments when her eyes met the woman's that she dared to linger, that she glimpsed the dormant ember within.

It was a warmth that spoke of resilience, of a spirit unbroken despite the trials it had faced. Though her eyes may have seemed lifeless to the casual observer, they held within them a silent strength. They were eyes that had seen the darkest of nights, yet still longed for the dawn.

"You, ok?" Akame asks, her tone soft and gentle yet it was cold.

Although frightened with Akame's presence the woman did not dare to turn away the help. Hesitantly the woman placed her mud-stained hand on Akame's clean one. "Y-yes, I'm alright" she stammered under her hoarse throat.

"Did he hurt you?" Akame questioned the woman. She was ready to teach this man a lesson if he did.

The woman shook her head.

The man standing a few feet watched in utter disapproval. His teeth gnawed together in a pit of anger and his hands clenched to a fist. He didn't like what was happening and to ignore him like that, he grew increasingly agitated and began by retorting, "Hey! You there woman. Who do you think you are meddling in someone's affair like some saint!" he spat out.

Akame who was helping the woman up, side glanced the man. Her sharp red eyes catching the man off guard. His face went stone cold and the colour drained from his face.

The lone solider had no patience to talk to this feral monkey that she decided to completely ignore him by looking away from him and bringing her attention back on the woman.

"You said your son was sick?" Akame asked another question to the woman which in return had the man bawling his fists in anger for being ignored.

"HEY! I'M TALKING TO YOU WHORE!" the man proceeded to stomp his way to Akame, ready to act in any physical violence.

In the blink of an eye, Akame's hand moved with such speed that it appeared as nothing more than a blur to those around her. With lightning-fast reflexes, she had unsheathed her katana, the blade gleaming in the sunlight as it arced through the air.

In an instant, the tip of her blade was mere inches from the man's throat, the sharp edge poised with deadly precision. Despite the suddenness of her movement, Akame remained perfectly composed, her stance unwavering yet her attention nor gaze was on him but on the woman.

The man froze in place, his eyes widening in shock as he realized the danger he was in. Time seemed to stand still as the tension between them hung heavy in the air, the only sound the faint whisper of the wind rustling through the trees.

In that moment, Akame's swift and decisive action spoke volumes about her skill and prowess as a fighter. With just a single movement, she had silenced the village.

"Turn around and walk away. I do not need to contaminate my blade with your filth" she warned him, her voice cold and dangerous as it stabbed the man into a pit of sheer trembles.

"W-what are you" he stammered back.

"I said fuck off."

As Akame held her katana steady, the man's fear was palpable, his body trembling uncontrollably. With wide eyes filled with terror, he took a step back, then another, until finally, he turned and bolted, his footsteps echoing in his haste.

He didn't dare glance back, not even once, consumed by the primal instinct to flee from the imminent danger that Akame posed.

"Tch asshole" Akame insulted the man under her breath. Turning back to the woman, Akame glanced at her. "You said your son was sick?"

~~~~~~~~~~ ( I Kind of just Skipped these parts because people will just start complaining about how unnecessary all this is when it actually just helps build up Akame's character and her influence in Westeros) 

The meadow stretched out before Akame as she rode Aragorn, the silent companion on her journey. The cold breeze swept across the landscape, causing the tall grass to sway in rhythmic undulations. While others might have felt the chill, Akame, accustomed to a different world, perceived it as a mere caress, a gentle reminder of the changing seasons.

Another day had passed after treating the boy from a flu in which the mother was grateful and could not thank Akame enough for treating her son without any cost or debts.

The lone solider felt something in her heart when treated the boy. That sick boy laying on a bed in a room covered with filth just reminded her of the children during the war and it made her feel as if she was thrown back in there to witness the suffering of children.

She spent a day or two restoring the boys health back to life, giving him medicine, cleaning his room so it doesn't ruin his health more, buying him proper food that his mother could not afford until he had gotten better.

This was something Akame was good at other than being a weapon and fighting people in a war zone.

The lone solider continued to travel and absorbing the nuances of this unfamiliar realm. Her encounters with the locals, while brief, proved enlightening although she mostly kept to herself but the small encounters with the children was rather entertaining. Armed with her advanced medical knowledge, she diagnosed ailments and offered assistance to those in need. The meagre halfgroat coins she earned were inconsequential to her, yet it was good to buy bread whenever she craved for it.

Acknowledging the need for discretion, Akame acquired a black cloak to conceal her distinctive attire. She crafted a plain mask from wood, fashioning a simple yet effective shield against prying eyes. The combination of cloak and mask allowed her to navigate the towns and villages with a semblance of anonymity, avoiding the curious stares that often accompanied her red-eyed countenance.

Aragorn trotted steadily through the meadow, his hooves creating a muted rhythm against the earth. The landscape unfolded around them; a tableau of nature's beauty interspersed with signs of human habitation. Akame's journey became a symphony of discovery and adaptation, each encounter adding a new note to the melody of her experiences.

The distant echoes of life carried on the breeze—the chatter of villagers, the bleating of distant sheep, and the occasional calls of birds overhead. The world was vast and varied, and Akame, a silent observer beneath her masked guise, absorbed it all.

With each passing hour, the meadow turned into a kaleidoscope of hues, reflecting the changing day.

The journey continued, an odyssey into the unknown, as Akame and Aragorn ventured forth across the meadow and beyond, their destinies entwined with the ever-evolving tapestry of Westeros.

As the days flowed seamlessly into one another, Akame found herself approaching another village on her journey. The distant murmur of life reached her ears, signalling the proximity of civilisation. Aragorn's steady gait brought them to the village outskirts.

Entering the settlement, Akame observed the quaint houses, their stone and wood structures forming a picturesque scene against the backdrop of the meadow. Villagers moved about, attending to their daily tasks, and the aroma of cooking wafted through the air.

"I want bread." She said bluntly. Akame hovered her head over Aragorn, her red eyes peering into the soul of her horse. "Let's go get some bread."

Aragorn did not stop his rider to fall for her sudden cravings.

Akame guided Aragorn through the narrow lanes until they reached a small marketplace. Tying the reins to a nearby post, she dismounted and secured her cloak around her, the plain mask concealing her features.

Approaching a stall with bread placed neatly on a wooden stall. The tantalizing aroma teased her senses, and a subtle craving took root.

The baker, an overweight man with flour-dusted hands, looked up from his work. "Good day, traveller. What can I do for you?" he greeted, wiping his hands on his apron.

Akame had set her eyes on a particular one. Without any hesitation or thought the lone solider asked for it. "I want that bread please" she pointed to a decently sized round bread.

The baker quoted a modest price, and Akame handed him the required coins. Akame received the warm loaf in her hands. Expressing her thanks with a nod, she walked off happily, the subtle crunch of the crust beneath her fingers signalling the promise of a satisfying meal.

Aragorn greeted her with a soft neigh as she approached, and with the fresh bread in tow, they continued their journey through the village before reaching then end and continuing on through the meadow. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Akame found herself standing in front of Winterfell's grand castle, the massive structure looming before her like a silent guardian of the North. Confusion clouded her mind as she tried to make sense of how she had ended up here. She surveyed the landscape around her, the truth slowly dawned on her. There was no other castle nearby that resembled Winterfell in its size and stature. It occurred to her that she must have somehow circled back to Winterfell without even realising it, a realisation that both baffled and frustrated her.

"How? How the fuck did I? What!?" She shrieked in sheer confusion.

She glanced down at the map clutched in her hand, hoping it would provide some answers, but its inked pathways only served to deepen her bewilderment. "I could have sworn I didn't take this path," she muttered to herself, her frustration evident in her voice. She scrutinized the map once more, tracing the intended route she had planned meticulously. Yet, no matter how many times she checked, the path seemed correct, leading her away from Winterfell, not towards it.

With a sigh, Akame ran a hand through her hair, feeling the weight of her confusion bearing down on her. How could she have ended up back at Winterfell when she had been so certain of her direction? The thought gnawed at her, leaving her feeling disoriented and lost.

"This is why I need fuckin google maps not this bullshit useless of a paper that doesn't give me any directions" she smacked the paper with her hand.

With a resigned shake of her head, Akame tucked the map back into her pouch and took a deep breath, to calm her annoyance. Whatever had led her back to Winterfell, she knew she couldn't stay here for long.

"Let's circle back and go back to where we first came. We'll just take another route from there" Akame said as grabbed a hold of Aragorn's saddle to hoist herself up but she stopped.

She couldn't resist stealing one last glance at Winterfell's imposing silhouette against the sky. Despite her frustration and confusion, there was an undeniable allure to the ancient structure, its weathered stone walls bearing witness to centuries of history and tradition.

The castle stood as a testament to the resilience of the North, its grandeur and majesty captivating Akame's gaze. She found herself mesmerized by its towering spires and sturdy battlements, each stone seeming to tell a story of battles fought and victories won.

In that moment, Akame wished she had her phone with her, longing to capture the castle's splendour in a photograph. But the absence of modern technology only fuelled her determination to preserve the memory in another way.

With a determined set to her jaw, Akame retrieved her sketchbook and pencil, her fingers itching to capture the essence of Winterfell on paper. As she deftly sketched the outlines of the castle, her hand moved with purpose, each stroke bringing the ancient structure to life in intricate detail. She traced the lines of the walls, the curves of the towers, and the intricate patterns etched into the stone with practiced ease.

Despite the chill in the air, Akame was consumed by her art, her focus unwavering as she sought to capture the essence of Winterfell on paper. The castle seemed to come alive beneath her fingertips, its grandeur and majesty taking shape with each stroke of the pencil.

Time seemed to slip away as Akame lost herself in her work, the outside world fading into the background as she poured her heart and soul into her sketch. The soft rustle of leaves in the breeze and the distant calls of birds served as a soothing backdrop to her creative endeavour.

As she worked, Akame couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of Winterfell, its ancient walls holding countless stories and secrets within their stony embrace.

While Akame continued to sketch, her senses attuned to the world around her, she detected the sound of approaching hooves and voices in the distance. Though she remained focused on her drawing, she instinctively stepped aside to allow the riders to pass by. Her brown cloak that she brought from a merchant not so long ago to hide her foreign attire concealed her identity, and she hoped it would dissuade any curious inquiries from the passing group.

With a wry internal remark about her conspicuously appearance, she shifted subtly closer to Aragorn, her trusted steed. The familiarity of his presence offered her a sense of reassurance amidst the unfamiliarity of Winterfell and its inhabitants.

As the riders drew nearer, Akame kept her gaze lowered, feigning indifference to their presence. She listened intently, her keen ears picking up snippets of conversation and the rhythmic hoofbeats of their horses. 

She only hoped whoever they were would just pass by and don't pay her any mind. 

Akame Changed her clothing to this -