(Untitled)

[accusedjonah]

DATE: December 1st, night [backdated]
CHARACTER(S): Jonathan Hollom and OPEN
SUMMARY: The wagons are circled, watches are being kept, and one man is greatly disturbed.
LOCATION: Around the campfire.
WARNINGS: Sad, sad little mouse inside.
FORMAT: Whichever.

Comments

[practiced]

Sansa knew that her sworn guardian was craven - he had admitted as much to her early on in their travels together - and although she had first considered him with disdain and then with pity, she never once encouraged him to relinquish his oath nor did she ever absolve him of it. Why this was precisely, she could not say, but perhaps it had something to do with the guilt that lingered in his posture and in his face. The specifics to that guilt, she did not know, but Sansa understood what it was to live with regret. She herself had a surfeit of it, being a little bird among wolves, the daughter that survived when other - more deserving and more innocent - Starks fell to blade after blade. So perhaps there was a part of her, however slight and hidden from sight, that saw something of herself held within shipman Jonathan Hollom; and perhaps in looking for her own absolution, she looked to provide him with his own.

Deeply, she bowed; there were few who earned such a gesture from her.

"I am, shipman, I thank you." Sansa placed a hand on the cloak folded over her arm, but did not call attention to it just yet. "Have I stolen you away from your thoughts? If it is solitude you crave-" She smiled at him in the dimness of encroaching night. "I mean no intrusion."

It was not wholly a lie, but not wholly the truth either.

[accusedjonah]

"I am not used to anyone seeking me out for company," Hollom replied softly.

He had begun to adapt to this life. He had started to smile more, to enjoy the company of those about him. He could understand it now, that he had felt the same way on every new ship he served on. Every time he thought perhaps he could put everything behind him, he was reminded that he was nothing but a coward and a Jonah.

"But... Please. If you'd like. Join me."

[practiced]

"Consider it practice then, shipman," Sansa then said with youthful authority. She had once had it in her to be quite mean - a thoughtless, selfish, silly girl who had learned her lessons far too late - but she never turned that cheek nor ice cold voice towards Hollom. Nor would she ever, she had sworn to herself.

I am charged with his care as much as he is charged with mine, she thought and then nodded, again with a kind of finality. Her mouth, however, continued with its smiling. "For I have much use and need of your company." With a hand, Sansa gestured for him to sit once more. Brushing a nearby barrel clean she settled down upon it, like a rufous bird finally coming to perch. She studied him for a moment before asking:

"Are you well, ser?"

[accusedjonah]

"Ser is for knights."

"You are very kind, Miss Sansa." He meant it more than he liked. She had not ignored him, not shooed him away for being underfoot. She had never given him those looks he knew well-- the looks of disdain and annoyance, the looks of shipmates tired of dealing with his demeanour and curse.

Hollom bowed his head slightly, not meeting her eyes. "I... Am as well as I can be, Miss Sansa. I am afraid I am poor company tonight."

[practiced]

Yes, was Jon Snow had told Hollom was true; 'ser' was for knights of Westeros but Sansa had discovered upon being held hostage at King's Landing that knighthood was a title and little more - a hollowness very rarely given substance, a pantomime or a mask used to hide an oftimes ugly and ambitious soul. To Sansa, 'ser' had always been a title of respect, of honor and duty earned by men with true dignity. And although shipman Hollom seemed absolutely scare of self-confidence, there was honor in his heart, Sansa was convinced of it; and so 'ser' he remained - a compliment where Hollom himself would insist none had been earned.

"I shall judge the quality of your company. For it is I who bears it and keeps it, is it not? If you are poorly in any respect, shipman, it is in being generous with yourself."

[accusedjonah]

She was too good. It was the hundredth time Jon thought it as he looked at Sansa. Too kind and too warm to those around her, and she showed mercy and respect where little, if any at all, were deserved. Jon Snow had been right to threaten him against bringing harm to her, and Hollom felt the words keenly, too afraid that he might do just that.

"There... might come a day, Miss Sansa..." He looked beyond her, unable to bear looking directly at her as he said it, "When I cannot keep my promise. When I... won't be here. To look after you." Or burden you with having to look after me. "I know your brothers will do it without hesitation, but... so will Mister Pullings. I've... I've asked him. If anything happens to me, he'll see you safe."

Yet, despite his phrasing, might and if... were almost said as if the word he wanted to use was when.

[practiced]

Were Sansa wiser, she would not be so generous. Experience had shown her all the ways in which men could be cruel and without mercy, all the ways in which men could lie and deceive those around them. Had he met her before she traveled South from Winterfell, no doubt Jonathan Hollom would have a wholly different opinion of the Lady Sansa Stark. But suffering had made her hard but desperate and though she admonished herself for her eagerness Sansa could not keep from wanting goodness to be true. She grasped for it, searching for it in the people around her even though her battered heart warned her: caution; beware!

Her expression fell at his words, whatever confidence there had been in her voice dropping away from beneath her like unsturdy support suddenly giving way underfoot. Had she done something wrong? Was he punishing her? Did he look for absolution from his pledge so that he might leave her side so soon? Had he sworn his oath knowing full-well he did not intend to keep it; had she been foolish again in swallowing it down, in thinking it would be paramount to him? That she would be paramount to him?

Stupid, stupid little bird.

It was only at length that she spoke again. "Are you- are you angry with me, shipman Hollom? Have I done something to displease you?"

She had displeased Joffrey endlessly and with the smallest of things, but she had tried so very hard to be good and proper, just as she had tried here in this place. But just as with Joff, she had failed. Her hands clutched at the fabric in her lap, her fingers digging wrinkles into one smooth cloth.

[accusedjonah]

"No."

The suddenness of the words took him as much by surprise as they had when he had spoken to Jon. His eyes widened, and he finally looked at her. Pale and distant as he looked, her words seemed to have shaken him back into some kind of animation, seemed to have sparked some life back into his eyes.

"No. Nothing like that, Miss Sansa. Never anything like that." Inwardly, he swore. And prayed. And did something of a combination. God in Heaven, he had not meant to upset her. Selfish and foolish, speaking so freely. Burdening her with his woe and merely adding to her hardships. "No, I swear it. I could never be angry with you, Miss Sansa, nor could you do anything wrong. I swear it."

He looked at her, light eyes worried, self-reproachful, and sincere.

"I-- I only meant... If something happens to me here. If..." If I die. "If something will not let me be at your side. If it becomes impossible for me to keep my promise to you. I have gotten Mister Pullings's word that you will not be without a protector."

He had meant to reassure her, yet he had only upset her, and he felt the pain of that. Another thing he could not do right.

ugh this thread ;__;

[practiced]

'If....if...'

Only then did Sansa understand Hollom's words and see the implication - bold-faced and desperate - for what it was. Without so much as a moment's pause she shook her head once and then again. A dozen things, brash and impulsive, looked to crawl their way out of her gut and onto her tongue but Sansa beat them back with a swallow, her chin lifting in miserable defiance of that sentiment, of that 'if'.

"You cannot die," she then said, though the words were foolishness. Who was she to command a man to survive - she was no one, just a bird and a helpless one at that, looking to nest in other men's honor in the hopes that it would keep her safe amidst storms. Had it been as simple as a forceful word Sansa would have demanded her father live while she declared that Joffrey Baratheon die die die.

Sansa blinked at Hollom and her eyes repeated what her mouth had already spoken.

You cannot die, I'm in need of you, she thought. Not a guardian or a protector but you, Jonathan Hollom. I gave to you a shred of hope, that is what an oath bears when it is sworn. You cannot give it back. It will die with you.

Both so so sad and so broken ;__;

[accusedjonah]

Propriety was forgotten. For a moment, she was his sister. She joined Hope and Faith and Constance and dear Charity and was his sister. He put a hand to her cheek, even though it shook slightly, and leaned in close, stopping himself shy of fully embracing her.

"Then I won't." He laughed, a quiet, strained sound, but his eyes held her gaze. "Not until you say otherwise." Foolish, foolish promise to make. But if she needed it-- if she wanted it... he would offer it. "I--" The words threatened to choke him, but he would force them out. She deserved to know. Yet he could not tell her. Could not burden her more than he already had. "I shall do as you command. Live and die by your word."

I've nothing else in this world. I am good for nothing else. But if I can set you to any kind of ease, I shall do it with every breath I possess.

they have had to deal with so much tragedy ;__;

[practiced]

His forwardness startled Sansa, though it did not shock nor repulse her. If anything it filled her with momentary fear, for she suddenly imagined shipman Hollom as Ser Dontos or perhaps the Hound, and Sansa half expected him to demand a kiss from her in exchange of his service. But there was no wine upon his breath nor blade clutched between his fingers; he would not ploy her with unwanted slovenly kisses nor make her sing for her life.

He is not so selfish nor craven as that, she then thought and stilled whatever fear beat in her breast. He had proven nothing but kind to her, had only given and never taken. With this new oath, he reminded Sansa of that; silently she chastised herself for comparing him to the supposed knights of King's Landing, however briefly. She remembered his words, words he had offered to Sansa during their first few days in this strange place:

'Always treat every woman as I would have a stranger treat my sisters', he had said and so the hand upon her cheek became not a threat but a kindness. An warmly-meant obeisance.

Sansa bowed in receipt of it, feeling oddly humbled, and lowered her gaze as she spoke.

"Then live. That is your charge, shipman Hollom."

But live in hope. She did not speak those words.

[accusedjonah]

"Then I shall hold to it."

He had remembered himself by now and carefully drew back his hand, inwardly scolding himself. He had no cause to act so, to touch her as freely as he did. She was certainly generous not to have slapped him for having gotten so close. As far as he was concerned, she would have been well within her rights to do such a thing.

Hollom ducked his head slightly. He was binding his fate to her word and swearing himself to her, and she had no idea that she might only be saddled with a curse. But if she came to harm because of it... Well, he already knew that his life was forfeit. Not only could he not bear the thought, but Jon Snow had made it clear that he would abide no such thing.

...That was the sort of protector she deserved.

"I offer my apologies, Miss Sansa, if my earlier words upset you. That was not my intention."

[practiced]

Sansa heard the words but did not feel satisfaction at them. Something malingered in the back of her mind, as if she could see some further truth hidden behind Hollom's promise, a weight pressing down onto the root of his tongue, threatening to choke him. He had given her hope when she found herself lost and that was how he appeared to her now - misguided or blind or perhaps wounded, stranded within himself where not even her most earnest entreatments could reach him. If only she had a way to offer hope in return.

Sansa shook her head; again, a pardon.

"We find ourselves amidst trying times. Our hearts and our minds are vexed with the ill fortune that has been set upon us. In that, you are blameless."

[accusedjonah]

"In that, you are blameless."

The words made Hollom's hands shake briefly. He bowed his head and shook it slowly. Finally, he raised his head, pale eyes coming to meet her. His gaze was muted, distant.

"I'm not, Miss Sansa." He swallowed hard. "Blameless. For this misfortune. I'm... not."

He had been told for so long that he brought bad luck upon others, had tried to find it in his faith to deny it, had seen more and more come, had been set upon by others for things such as this being his fault... that now he simply accepted that it was.

[practiced]

Sansa did not understand, not in the way that Hollom intended. He was a man so beset by guilt and inadequacy that there were times when she had to remind herself that he was not half as guilty as he made himself out to be. Blame clung to him in his mind's eye and that perception of himself threatened to color the gaze of those around him, though Sansa fought succumbing to such thoughts. Her brow pinched in confusion again and when she believed she had devised his meaning she held a hand to her mouth to hold back a tiny gasp.

"-was it you, shipman Hollom?" she asked. Sansa felt afraid because if the answer were 'yes', she would have no choice but to tell her brothers and then reprimand would possibly follow. "The one who fired the first shot and set the snakes to anger and the others to panic?"

He was such a fearful man - Sansa could believe the possibility.

[accusedjonah]

"No." He could claim few skills, but he was a steady hand with a gun. He knew what ought to be shot at and what to leave alone and what to wait for to be in just the right spot and what that spot was. "No, I was on watch, well away from where the shooting began."

But he would have to explain, and he braced himself against it.

"Wh--where I'm from... We... There's a kind of man. He's called a Jonah." The word stung to say, but he knew that was because it was true. "A Jonah... is bad luck. They cause it, wherever they go, whatever they do. If... If a ship suffers badly... You can be sure that a Jonah is on board."

He sighed and finished, "And as long as a Jonah is around, misfortune will continue to strike."