@strmfury, " he's cold-blooded, so it takes more time to bleed. "
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀neither the softer nor the crueler sort of interrogation had wrung aught from the man that'd apprised the dragons of the stags' designs and borne them tidings of their counsels. a man who'd long enjoyed lyonel's favuor and good graces he'd been, now a turncloak discovered amid the black of the rebellion, and in the dank and lightless cellars of storm's end he now festers, bereft of his fingernails and scarcely a tooth left to speak of and swollen beyond the shape of man from the bruises blooming across his face, thoroughly examined by word and wound alike; but fruitlessly so, and lyonel's patience has begun to frey.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ " it's been a sennight. " he flings his arms upward, exasperated and wrathful as a thunderbolt. " the cunts do not know how to break a man. i ought to go down there myself and do what they lack the wit to do. " a bark and a finger thrust toward the door of his study, within which he'd forbid any man enter for the eve, save his kin. he turns, huffs, cloak-of-cold whirling in his wake as he strides to a narrow casement to gaze forth upon the open sea. " the others fucking take me. i'll have the whole lot of 'em thrown in the same cell, if he doesn't start talking. " he's cold-blooded, the younger of the twain then says, stilling the ire of the stag scraping the soil beneath its hooves, so it takes more time to bleed, and lyonel scoffs a dry sound. " like yourself, brother? " a wry hint of a smile tugs at the storm king's mouth as he looks upon stannis. of the chill of shipbreaker's bay and its wintry waves and cutting winds is forged the stuff flooding his brother's veins, and the white fire of levin in lyonel's own. would sooner surrender his breath ere surrender lyonel's secrets unto the foe, the lad would, that much lyonel knows, and the selfsame loyalty the oath-breaker now nurses, as faithful to the foe as stannis to his brother. " he's as bull-headed as you. " he declares. " ought i send you down there? "
