Winter had yielded to the grasp of SPRING. A winter of discontent, yearning for a spring of serenity. The battles, waged with swords of vengeance and paved with blood of kin, had neared an end. Now, only the breadth of FATE remained. Were they, the wolves of the North, to be forever exiled to their plains? Or would the ROSE of the highest gardens bloom upon all the land, no longer under the domain of Stag or Lion?
'—— piss on that! Stannis won't lie down with our folk! '
'Aye, he won't. But He did just GUT every last Lannister in King's Landing! Propped Joffrey's 'ead right up where Lord Eddard's was last I 'eard it!'
'We still got ourselves' a pretty Lannister here, eh? ——wonder what the Kingslayer thinks of his kin being killed?
The bickering, or banter rather, continued happily. Wine had become steady, the Lords and Leaders no longer cosigned to the maturity and necessity of sobriety, now that the war was all but WON. Amid the jubilee, brittle and cold as were all Northerfolk, the KING sat, near disinterested in their barking. Much like the night 'pon which they forced this MANTLE upon his head, a crown of thorns, did he sit silent, contemplating, mulling and assessing his elder council's opinions.
Beard of CRIMSON, befitting his Tully lineage, had grow wildly, surpassing his years of only SIXTEEN. Young Wolf he was, all but in spirit. He had lived these months of war, scathed, but yet UNBEATEN. The tales were already being told, of a soldier of fourteen conquering the mighty Tywin Lannister. His armor was rugged, soiled with the toxic concoction of blood and dirt. It was the paint of WAR. At his feet, loyal, vigilant, was his SECOND soul. Grey Wind. The direwolf, too, aged far beyond his years. Their bond had only strengthened, for now when Robb's eyes fell shut, he could see through the WOLF'S.
'Let's not forget the girls, m'Lords. Lady Sansa and Arya. They deserve a warm welcome home, eh?'
'If the new King releases them, you mean.'
'Does Stannis really have the army to contend with these two pissed off houses?'
The banter soon quieted as the men rose to their feet, acknowledging the presence of a new arrival. The QUEEN. Awkward, stumbling and tipsy were their movements as they formed an honorary tunnel, allowing the wife of WINTER through, to be seated next to Robb. The Young Wolf could not deny the smirk upon his face at the manner in which she effortlessly commanded authority. They followed her as much as they followed him. The King, too, rose to his feet, weary but nonetheless galvanized by her presence. Piously, he discards his right glove, revealing cold, pale skin, to which he takes her hand. Formal, but necessary in these public places.
❝ I believe the Lords were just speaking of our next move. With King's Landing now under Stannis' rule, and all Lannisters but the Kingslayer dead ...
... we are at an IMPASSE as to what should come next. ❞
@enthorned
