Nay—what was the point in allowing one time to think when
that was all they did anymore? Or rather, it was all he did
anymore. Torturing himself with thoughts that rummaged to
and fro of failure and war. Better to strip him from the source
and foundation of what was binding him to the chains of
despair and rotting self-loathing. There is no safe haven midst
the perpetual grasp of hellish onslaught on a wide scale. You
do or die, but she will ne’er question his desire of withholding
his morals. A fool she would be to ever strip from him one of
the only things that he has left to his name. Something so
abnormal during such days yet he retains it in honor of his
father. A man she no doubt would have met given alternative
circumstances.
But Robb Stark is an honorable man regardless.
There is a respect akin to a thousand suns——
no, ‘tis greater.
There is admiration,
there is respect,
there is an aching sense of gravitation
toward he who is young, yet he who is king in the north.
Even now as she turns oceanus oculi to him once more, his own
steed being breached and mounted. Heels were quick to flick and
drive into flanks of the ivory beast beneath her. It offers a short rear
and neigh before jolting onward. A trot that turns into a canter, a
canter that turns into a gallop.
A blanket of stars watches over them on this night, the goddess
above—the moon—peering upon children, her wolves so proud
and loyal. The way that they rode on peaceful and beautiful beasts
that had adjusted to their ways, to their lifestyle. And the dire that
weaved between them with each passing moment.
Filaments of roseate flicked to and fro with the resistance of air
that splashed across alabaster countenance. The moon kissed
upon her face, sweetly so. The Savior. But there is an abruptness
in a halt, eyes lifting to that goddess in the sky surrounded by
children already passed (the stars). No words be needed in a
moment so beautiful as this.
There is a lesson in this moment,
one that is nigh constantly o’er looked.