Battleworn

oyalty isn't grey. It's black and white. You're either loyal completely, or not loyal at all. -- Sharnay

[commandcrsnow]

REYANNA.

Her hand drops to her side rather than making contact with is face an eyes narrowed at the commander with his chastising but most of the frustration she felt was aimed at herself rather than him. It was a rarity for the Bolton to ever admit to any wrongdoing and she certainly wasn’t about to now but something told her that she didn’t need words to tell him that there was a fleeting sense of regret for her actions felt when she was almost certain that he would catch it flickering in her eyes before their usual coolness returned. Most others wouldn’t have even received that small concession but there were a few who lay outside her usual tendencies.

Fists clenched again as though that would absolve her anger as opposed to only adding to it as had just been proven. Briefly she considered challenging him but he was one of the few that her mind seemed to insist she pulled punches for - only her sisters getting such treatment when he father demanded that she held nothing back. So instead she exhaled and slowly unfurled her hands as she did, embracing the stinging pain that came from her cracked knuckles as she did so, finding it to be almost grounding.

Dark gaze darted towards the man she had undoubtedly injured but only a slight pity was felt when she knew that she had inflicted far worse than what he had endured. “He’ll be fine.” The words were firm when she knew her own limits and what she was capable of, no injury that she’d given would last more than a few days. There had been an effort made to ensure no broken bones or dislocated limbs - simply a plethora of bruises that would undoubtedly ache for a few days. “Perhaps their training needs increased or they need to be more willing to hit anyone.”

Barely a glance was spared for the state of her hands, feeling as though it was simply an inevitability that came with engaging in any kind of fight and letting raw instinct take over. Her gaze was stern and voice firm when she looked back up at the man who’d managed to halt her fury, ensuring that there was no room for argument or protest to what she said. “They will be fine too.”

Skin crawled slightly as she was all too aware of how many eyes were upon her, no doubt wondering if Desmond or even themselves was likely to become her next victim. Drawing herself up straighter, Reyanna holds her head high as she makes her next suggestion. “Although perhaps we should go elsewhere.”

She was right, he would be fine. It would take some time for him to recover, but the injuries he endured would heal and he would be back to train. Still, Desmond made a note to speak with him the next chance he got; he sparred with Lady Bolton and got the brunt of her pent up aggression, something that the soldier didn’t know he was walking into. And he had been beaten down in front of many of the others, which could bruise his pride quite harshly. Desmond would have to try and mend the situation as soon as he could. For now, though, his concerns were with Reyanna.

“Or perhaps they were expecting a normal sparring round, not to be beaten by their lady, who they are loyally serving, may I add.” Perhaps he had been harsh in his response, but Desmond felt inclined to remind her exactly who she had been taking her aggression out on. A man that had sworn his sword-- and his life-- to her and her house. He understood her frustrations, understood her anger, but the last thing they needed was to be fighting each other and cutting each other down.

He spared the group around them another glance, notin the nervous glances toward Reyanna and himself. All it took was a raised brow from their commander to get the crowd to scatter, the soldiers and servants returning to their duties around the courtyard. The mention of her hands was a subtle hint to get away from the eyes of the crowd, and even though the group had dispersed, Desmond was eager to leave the courtyard as well.

“I agree,” he replied, stepping aside to let Reyanna lead the way. The tension in the courtyard was steadily fading with the de-escalation of the fight, but Desmond still felt inclined to stay with Reyanna, mostly for the sake of anyone else who dared cross her path at the moment. “We’ll go elsewhere to clean the blood from your hands.”

[commandcrsnow]

WYATT.

The wine tasted as if it had been a gift from the Gods themselves, should they have any say in the business of wine, that was. The road was harsh and unfavourable compared to the life he had here, but that wasn’t to say that he didn’t appreciate the outdoors and the quiet. It just happened to be much more agreeable if the right wine was served at the campfires made at dusk. 

“That’s a damn shame.” Wyatt sighed in frustration. It was bad enough that he had missed the whole ordeal and was of no help to his brother and his kingdom, but he couldn’t manufacture anything with the information they did have either. “We’ll have to see how to manage this. I suppose if there’s any place that might have some answers, it would be Old Town.” There was something comforting about being able to put ones hope in something promising. Wyatt was one to rely on the information others gave him, though usually he had multiple sources. Now, he had plenty of sources but still no idea. 

Right now, there wasn’t anything to change all that, Wyatt realised. “Let’s talk about something other than this, I beg of you. Wine should be paired with good stories and laughter.” He smiled in an attempt to turn the conversation around.

Desmond nodded in agreement. If there was any place that would have the answers they sought, it would be in Old Town. Not that Desmond really would have the chance to ride that far south; he had to remain near the Boltons and The North to ensure its protection.

“Of course,” he replied, returning the smile. There was no use dwelling on something so dark, especially when there was nothing anyone could do to change the events that occurred. It was in the past, the best anyone could do was move forward and make an effort to prevent it from happening again. In this case, for Desmond, it was to find them and eliminate them. But now was the time to talk of lighter things and share some wine with a friend. “How was The Wall?”

[commandcrsnow]

GARRICK.

An axe in his hands would perhaps always be the thing to bring the Lord of Ironrath some peace of mind when the rhythmic swings of it deep into the ironwood was almost the melody of his childhood. Hands were long since calloused enough that hour upon hour could be spent in the Wolfswood, venting his frustrating and loosing himself in the task at hand and this day was no different when his anger was only building over time rather than fading after what he had seen at Winterfell despite his late arrival to the tourney. 

Death came for them all but in Garrick’s mind everyone, though mostly Northerners, deserved an honourable death. One in battle or defending something, not to have their life stolen by cowardly shadows and then be died the chance of a proper burial. His temper had only just been kept in check in what remained of his time in Winterfell and after discussions with the King he had taken his leave early when whispers of insults had reached his ears and he had been in no fit state to hold back the swing of his axe or sword had any such words been uttered in front of him. 

It  was almost impossible for him to accept that there was little he could do except increase training and drills among those he was responsible and so the icy chasm of his fury only increased. Today it had taken him deep into the Wolfswood, set on finding some kind of solution when surrounded by the peace in the forest. Breaks were not something he took regularly but even the strongest of men grew weary and so his back was resting against a tree, blade in hand as he made quick work of what little food he had taken with him. Footsteps catch his attention and he looks up to see if it’s friend or foe.

When he wasn’t at the Dreadfort, Desmond was most likely elsewhere in The North. Most of his travels were on orders of Lord Bolton, though this time was different. He still intended to seek answers for what was witnessed at the King’s coronation. He had lingered in Winterfell with the Boltons, willing to help in any way he could whether it was to help calm things down or to be an extra set of eyes or an extra sword if it was needed. Word spread like wildfire, and accusations and insults had been thrown around The North. Desmond did his best to bite his tongue, but he, too, didn’t understand the inclination to point fingers mindlessly. And his patience only lasted for so long. Each House had been attacked, now was not the time to turn on each other.

Now, he was seeking answers and also aid in his pursuit. He was sure the most loyal houses in The North would also be intent on seeking the mysterious assailants. Northerners were stubborn, but also highly loyal and honorable. Desmond knew there would be a good number that would be intent on at least avenging their fallen, just as he and the other Boltons were. And he didn’t intend on sitting in the shadows and wait for someone else to find the assassins.

His journey took him to the Wolfswood, where he knew House Forrester resided. He hadn’t been able to speak with Garrick at the coronation, but he knew the other man would have been just as eager for vengeance as he was, if not more. Desmond arrived on foot, leaving his steed a ways behind him as he approached the lord of the Ironrath. Desmond gave a bow of his head in greeting to Garrick before speaking, “My Lord. I hope I’m not intruding; I was passing through and thought to come see you since we had not had the chance to speak in Winterfell.”

[commandcrsnow]

REYANNA.

There had been attempts made to keep her frustration in check at the lack of headway that she seemed to be making in forming any kind of logic and supported conclusion about what had happened at Winterfell. She had ensured that for the most part she was sequestered away in the library, surrounded by tomes that had formed something of a fort around her with all the piles that she had created as each seemed to inevitably prove to be of very little use to her. The brunette had scarcely ventured out of the room, save to occasionally eat when it became necessary, and most seemed to know better than to attempt to seek her out.

Although for the most part there had been no victims of her ire, her patience with what was usually her sanctuary was wearing thin and with books failing to providing the usually comfort or shedding light on foggy situation. The heavy tome in her hands is cast aside with a non too gentle huff of disappointment and the Bolton rises to her feet and heads to the courtyard where she knows that there will be soldier to be found when the only other thing that might dull her anger is to unleash it in the form of fighting.

Every step she took seemed to speak of danger, lithe movements mimicking something stalking its prey rather than a woman. Eyes fix on someone who seems as though they’ll at least provide a temporary challenge and with a sharp tilt of her head she makes her wants known. If there’s a sheepishness or hesitation in his actions Reyanna doesn’t pay it any heed before she sends a fist flying out with the expectation that he will counter and from that point onwards instincts kick in and all she knows is that blow after blow is sent out and dodged.

She was winning, that much she knew and even though she took some satisfaction from that it did not make her stop. His fist is dodged and she turns to get more impact, only to catch movement out of the corner of her eyes as she did. There’s already a suspicion of who she’ll be facing when she turns back once more, the first fist still landing with considerably less force than before and the second one halting in mid air. The brunette takes a step back with no effort made to hide her glare. “You should really know better.” Fists are dropped to her side, aware that they were stained with blood but not caring whose it was. “Do you always have to spoil it?”

Desmond had how own frustrations with their current predicament. The thirst for revenge needed to be quenched, but when there was no one to answer for the killings at the coronation, there was little to be done. There were plenty of speculations as to who was responsible, and the use of magic was affirmed, even though Desmond had a hard time grasping it. But there were direwolves and dragons in Westeros, magic couldn’t be too terribly farfetched. But magic had a source, and the elusive assassins still hid in the shadows. And that was only building tensions and frustrations.

Still, Desmond tried to do his part, seeking answers when he could. Otherwise, he stayed at the Dreadfort, keeping an eye on the Boltons and continuing his services to them. It was all he could do to keep himself in check and avoid letting his anger over the deaths get to him. Wyatt Stark told him not to dwell too much on the past, but there were times he couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened had he arrived to Winterfell sooner. Maybe he could have seen something, done something. Anything.

He had arrived at the courtyard, deciding to vent the building frustrations out on a training dummy when he noticed commotion near the center of the yard. Desmond had an inkling that the gathering wasn’t just to watch any two guards sparring; and from the sound of it, one of them was definitely getting a beating. Desmond easily pushed his way through the crowd, the guards making their way for their commander as he arrived to the center of the gathering to find his assumptions accurate. 

Reyanna was sparring with one of the guards, though there was a lack of easing up on her end. Desmond had fought with Lady Bolton before, he knew she could hold her own more than well in a fight. But he also knew when to ease up, especially in a mere sparring match. So he continued forward, approaching Reyanna from her left. She was quick, and her first fist landed on his shoulder, not as heavy as the hits on the guard she was beating relentlessly only moments before. But he held his ground, even when her second fist was raised and aimed for his face. 

“Only when I know it’s unnecessary to beat my own men to a bloody pulp,” he replied, his tone quiet yet holding a hint of sternness to it. His gaze turned toward the nearest men, giving a nod toward the beaten guard on the ground behind Reyanna. They quickly stepped in to aid him, but Desmond’s gaze returned to Reyanna. “We should clean your hands.”

[commandcrsnow]

jaime lannister, jojen reed, petyr baelish

jaime lannister: what would you do for love?

Desmond took a moment to ponder. Love hadn’t been something he really considered, too honor bound and focused on the deeds of being a commander. He never considered romantic love for himself. Even the love of family could be called into question, since even there, he was lacking. So what was left? “Anything,” he replied finally. “the only thing I have is my rank and the house I protect. The loyalty runs deep, and perhaps part of that is out of love for The North.”

jojen reed: what is a dream of yours?

“Right now, to find the assassins that killed the Bolton’s Master of Arms, and the other members of the Houses.”

petyr baelish: what drives you? are you willing to do anything to achieve your goals?

“My sense of honor is what drives me. I serve House Bolton, fight for them and The North– I’m willing to face any of their enemies to defend them, to fight anyone that threatens their safety. And if I were to die doing so, then so be it.”

[commandcrsnow]

ygritte, stannis baratheon, jorah mormont

ygritte:are you free-spirited?

“My loyalty is tied to House Bolton and, ultimately, the North. and as second in command of the Bolton army, I’m afraid a ‘free spirit’ is a little limited. Not that I’m complaining; I’m satisfied where I am.”

stannis baratheon:do people see you as serious or easygoing?

“Both, perhaps. Leaning toward the former. But I can’t imagine why; a commander as well as a Northerner? Who would imagine him to have a sense of humor.”

jorah mormont:how loyal are you to the people you love?

“I would die for the house I fight for. There is nothing that would sway my allegiance otherwise.”

[commandcrsnow]

joffrey baratheon, loras tyrell, tommen baratheon

joffrey baratheon:what qualities do you dislike in others?

“Disloyalty.” The answer came fast and with a small nod of affirmation. “I may be a stubborn Northerner, but I am loyal. And any disloyalty is unacceptable to me.”

loras tyrell: do you hide anything about yourself from people?

“The fact that I’m a bastard is known through the Bolton army, perhaps through a good amount of the North, depending on who knows my name. When I introduce myself, I tend to avoid mentioning I’m Desmond Snow.”

tommen baratheon: were you forced to grow up too quickly?

“Perhaps I was. But it made me strong. The man who raised me taught me to fight since I was a boy. It’s what I know, and it’s kept me alive this long.”

[commandcrsnow]

reyannabolton:

GOT Character Asks

arya stark: do you have different “faces” around different people? bran stark: if you could warg into any animal what animal would you choose and why? bronn: what would you do for money? brienne of tarth: do you fit the mold? catelyn stark: do you miss anyone? cersei lannister: what’s your favorite drink? daario naharis: what would you do to impress someone? daenerys targaryen: do you find yourself looking back on the past often? davos seaworth: who makes up your family? eddard stark: where does your honor lie? gendry: what is something you’ve created that you are proud of? gilly: do you ever feel out of place? grey worm: how do you stand up for what you believe in? hot pie: what’s your favorite food? jaime lannister: what would you do for love? joffrey baratheon: what qualities do you dislike in others? jojen reed: what is a dream of yours? jon snow: what would you break your vows for? jorah mormont: how loyal are you to the people you love? khal drogo: what does it mean to you to be alive? loras tyrell: do you hide anything about yourself from people? margaery tyrell: how do you get what you want? melisandre: do you ever purposely manipulate people? missandei: can you speak more than one language? oberyn martell: do you believe in getting revenge? petyr baelish: what drives you? are you willing to do anything to achieve your goals? renly baratheon: do you live in the shadow of an older sibling? rickon stark: are you the youngest of your siblings? the oldest? the middle? robb stark: are you a leader or a follower? robert baratheon: are you in your prime? samwell tarly: what is your favorite thing about learning? sandor clegane: what is a fear of yours? sansa stark: what does it mean to be strong? shae: where have you traveled? shireen baratheon: what is something you’ve taught someone else? stannis baratheon: do people see you as serious or easygoing? theon greyjoy: are you anxious to prove your worth to certain people? tommen baratheon: were you forced to grow up too quickly? tyrion lannister: what’s your favorite book? tywin lannister: are people’s perceptions of you important? varys: can you keep secrets? ygritte: are you free-spirited?

CREDIT (X)

Desmond | Bastian

[namieamuuro]

[commandcrsnow]

WYATT.

The youngest wolf chuckled in response to the Commander’s promise. The daughter of The Dreadfort could be rather intense. He could only count himself lucky that she was to be considered an ally and a great one at that. As the wine arrived, Wyatt eagerly took a sip. He couldn’t express how great it felt to be able to have a good glass of wine, warmth and a companion that wasn’t as dark as gloomy of the brace men of the Night’s Watch. “Cheers to that.” He raised his glass slightly, before taking another sip. “Have you been successful at finding out more about the attack?” Wyatt couldn’t quite appreciate that he was unknowing of everything that had happened. If he wanted to help his brother, he felt like he ought to have some answers, or at least knowledge.

Desmond took up the cup once it was served, giving it a slight lift to the prince’s words before taking a drink. How long had it been since he had a drink? Definitely a while-- a long while. So to have the taste of a good wine was missed. And it was good to have some company as well, aside from the usual company he kept at The Dreadfort and with their soldiers.

He shook his head, “I’m afraid not. I just hear the tale of assassins from the shadows, or phantoms and magic. I’m not one to put all my belief in magic, but Reyanna insisted that it was used then. Unfortunately, there isn’t anything more about who the assassins were or a firm belief of what their motives were.” Saying that Desmond was frustrated was putting it lightly; he wished he had been there himself to see what had happened, to have a better idea of what occurred other than taking other people’s word on it. Perhaps he could have helped more, but he was telling the prince what he knew, and he was intent on helping in any way he could, too.

[rpmindthinker]

If they stand behind you, give them protection.

If they stand beside you, give them respect.

If they stand if front of you, watch their back. And if they stand against you, show them no mercy.

[commandcrsnow]

“I wonder which will get you killed faster-- your loyalty or your stubbornness.”

Desmond Snow aesthetic [2/?]

[commandcrsnow]

WYATT.

Wyatt waved away his comment. “A noble thing to say of you, for sure, but I am quite certain that you arrived at the time you were supposed to. No one can change that past, so dwelling on that seems rather moot, doesn’t it?” He spoke, as he heard the words of the late maester echo in his mind. “Pardon me for sounding like an old man who supposedly knows a great deal about the world.” Wyatt confessed with a laugh as soon as he realized. “It is something our maester would tell us over and over.” 

“I doubt anyone is. She’s tough and frankly, quite scary at times. Do not tell her I said that.” Wyatt chuckled. The warmth of the halls filled him with joy. And he went to sit down at the long table, which was empty. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping my bounds, but you look like you could use a drink and not worry about the situation. But if anything, I need one and I your company would be much appreciated.” Wyatt nodded as he asked for a keg of red wine.

The young prince had a point in his words, and Desmond tried not to dwell too much on not being there sooner. He knew his arrival wouldn’t have made much of a difference to the outcome, but he still wished he would have been there to at least witness exactly what people had seen and rule out the speculations surrounding exactly who was responsible and ho they had managed to escape so quickly. Desmond gave a small chuckle and shook his head, “There’s nothing to pardon,” he replied, “sometimes it’s good to recall what we have learned in the past.”

The smile widened on his face, “Your secret is safe with me.” He entered the hall with Wyatt and sat at the opposite side of the long table to him. “If you would like my company, who am I to refuse?” he replied. It was a good time to catch up with the young prince, especially since he hadn’t had many chances to speak with him prior. And he didn’t mind having a drink; one drink wasn’t going to teeter his resolve too terribly. “I think most of us are due for a drink, anyway at this point.”

[ahdromeda]

favorite hamilton lyrics - right hand man

[commandcrsnow]

REYANNA.

The smirk on his lips doesn’t provoke any visible reaction from her when emotions were rarely felt strongly enough for them to break through the icy exterior that she chose to portray. Even if someone was unaware who she was Reyanna was quite sure that the way her temperament seemed to match the very climate of the North, embodying the cold in almost every action, they would soon be able to place her. Perhaps not quite to the Dreadfort but certainly to the Stark’s kingdom.

For all she knew how to keep a straight face, she was not completely immune to humour and while Desmond’s dripped with sarcasm hers were delivered much the same as she usually would. The only different was that the usual level, detached tone held some amount of dry humour that was an undeniable rarity and yet their second in command always managed to drag the whispers of it out of her no matter the scenario. It was something of a relief to know that for all her logic, she was still capable of even just fleeting amusement. “Clearly we need to work on your skills of observation as well as your manners then.”

More dry words follow the previous ones, this time the echos of a smirk tugging at the corner of her her lips. “Oh I would not dream of saying that you weren’t trying.” The play on words was rather obvious, one of her poorer efforts but it was a welcome distraction when she’d been caught up in her mourning for a man she had considered an uncle and mentor and her newfound fixation on revenge. 

Lips purse together slightly to prevent a sigh from escaping and it was times when he spoke like that that Reyanna remembered why she had come to accept him in his position. Their mindset could be so similar at times and she was no longer too proud to admit that when it was far more productive to have the two of them coordinating. “You and I both. I do not know where to start searching for them so they can suffer the fate that they deserve.” 

Ever a Bolton, the next words to leave her lips are dripping with a grim disgust, clearly shown in the brutality of them. “Flaying would be far too good for them.”

“Apparently so,” he agreed. The humor may have been misplaced for the given circumstances, but Desmond knew Reyanna wouldn’t outright talk to him about what had happened or her feelings on losing her mentor figure. He knew better than to ask, knew better than to goad her into talking about how she felt, so he did what he could to try and distract her for a moment, to keep her from diving too deep into the need for revenge.

But her quips back had become weaker, and Desmond felt the conversation take a turn. He knew it wasn’t good to let the idea of revenge fester, but he was feeling the urge for it as well. And any sort of punishment he could think of for the assassins didn’t feel just, and Reyanna felt the same, the spite and disgust heavy in her tone. 

“I wish I knew as well,” he replied, “and the notion that magic was involved... I’m not sure how much of that I can believe. Either way, they’re hiding like cowards.” The bitterness was hard to miss in his tone. 

The fact that even he wasn’t sure what had been seen at the coronation or that magic was used, something no one in the North-- or anywhere else for that matter-- would have been prepared for, was unheard of. Desmond agreed that even the most gruesome punishment was too kind for them. “I think anything would be too merciful,” he replied, “but they killed from each House. They’ll answer for it one way or another. Hopefully the punishment isn’t a swift death.”

[commandcrsnow]

WYATT.

It seemed that everyone currently present in the North was occupied with the raid, as was their right to be. War was an unpleasant matter, to say the least, but battles could be fought. From what he was told through the letter, this was a matter of magic, a mystery to which they did not know how to defend against. “Lord Bolton was kind to send us one of his best men. Of course the ladies Reyanna en Renyse must be his true motive, but I am certain my brother appreciates your presence, as do I.” Wyatt spoke, nodding and offering him a sad smile that represented gratefulness as well sorrow, given the reason of Ser Desmond’s deployment. 

“Thank you, your kindness is greatly appreciated.” His words were those of politeness. Truth be told, he wasn’t aware of who the casualties were and he had a suspicion that it was the very reason why he was summoned from Castle Black earlier than planned. Time would tell. “Thank you, Ser. It is good to see you as well. How are the ladies Bolton doing?” Wyatt asked, as he started to walk towards the entrance of the castle. “I trust you managed to keep them safe?”

Desmond bowed his head briefly at the compliment. “I only wish I could have arrived sooner, Your Grace.” He had remained at the Dreadfort to make sure things had been in order while Lord Bolton and his daughters attended the King’s coronation. He was uncertain if his arrival would have made much of a difference on what happened, but he wished he could have at least had the chance to try and prevent such an attack from happening. All of the talk heard about it was suspicious, especially when magic was thrown into it. Desmond only believed what he could see for himself, what was right in front of him. Magic wasn’t something he took too seriously.

He nodded once more, stepping aside to fall in step with the prince toward the castle. “They are well. As well as any of us can be, anyway. I keep a close eye on them, enough to make sure they remain safe. Though I’m not too worried about Reyanna; she is just as keen as the rest of us to find those responsible for the attack. She’s always had fight in her.”

[commandcrsnow]

ARAELA.

“One must always be ready for an attack, peace time or not,” glared Araela. “Any Lord of Lady who’s the Head of House would know that. You must always be prepared in case things like this happen. I understand that dark magic was used in the killings and that we are not capable of fighting something like this. What had kept me alive so far has been myself because my knights are still in shock and scared for what happened, even when they don’t show it,”

Araela hoped that Desmond could understand that this was the anger talking, the anger and the frustration she felt after being attacked. She was very protective of her people, especially now that they were away from Goldengrove. Perhaps she was being reckles by pointing her finger at the King in the North, but with no one knowing who the asassins were, there wasn’t anyone else who could blame but him, even if this wasn’t exactly his fault. No one could have stopped what happened unless they used the same kind of magic the killers used to end the lives of so many innocents. This was new for her, a murdered with no face, as well as for anyone who was still here in the North.

“Exactly!, she nodded. “You’re not wrong, Desmond. If this had happened in Goldengrove, everyone or at least most of the people would be blaming me for the lack of security, and others comming to me for answers. “I would be horrified, not to mention confused, paranoid, and vulnerable if that had been the case. My state of mind wouldn’t be the best and I would probably be trying to find answers by any means possible.”

She couldn’t help but smirk at his words. “That’s something I will have to learn how to do. I don’t like sharing things. I confess I’m a little bit spolied in that aspect. Once I take a fancy to someone or something, I don’t share it with anyone else.” Araela looked at him in the eye. “Now, are we going to keep looking for someone to direct us to the Tower of the Maester or my words have offended you so much that I’m going to have to continue alone?” 

“But could anyone expect the type of attack that happened that day?” The circumstances were very peculiar, to say the least. Desmond wasn’t one to jump at the theory of magic being involved, which was a very popular assumption. And he wasn’t there to witness it, so he didn’t have exact details either. Still, he understood the potential of attack at any moment. Desmond was taught to be prepared for anything; war could be unpredictable, and attacks like these could happen at any given moment. But to have assailants that disappeared as quickly as they had appeared? Desmond couldn’t believe it was magic. “If you don’t feel safe here, then why do you remain in Winterfell? If you are the only one keeping yourself alive, why stay here?”

No one was around to take the blame. The attackers had left quickly, whether it was by magic or other means, and no one was left to point the finger at. But Desmond knew the King wasn’t at fault; he wasn’t responsible for the attack, unless he had a part in letting the assassins into Winterfell, which the commander highly doubted. He was certain Calder had done what he could to make sure those in his House were safe-- continued to do so-- and to blame him for not seeing this attack coming was only causing more harm than anything. It was dividing the Houses further, and could bring more tension between them, if it already hadn’t been there from the start. So to hear her try and justify blaming Calder only angered Desmond further. 

“And you don’t think Calder isn’t trying to find answers as well? You don’t think he would be out there, trying to find out who did this? The fact that you question that is more than offensive. Be glad you didn’t say that near one of the Starks or anyone else who is strongly allied with them.” Desmond was part of House Bolton, and he knew if any of them-- especially Reyanna-- heard her speak those words, they would threaten to cut this woman’s tongue out.

Desmond returned the woman’s glare, brow still creased as she spoke. She definitely had an air of entitlement to her, admitted she was spoiled and refused to share anything. Desmond only gave a small nod, his gaze never breaking from hers. “This is where we part ways. The guards should be nearby to direct you to where you need to go, but with how you spoke of The King and House Stark’s inability to protect you or the other Houses, perhaps you’ll have better luck on your own.”