SOMETIMES I LIKE TO PLAY A LITTLE GAME...
Even in death, Petyr Baelish still haunted the Lord of the Vale. Oh would he if he could just fly, take to the skies and be done with Little Finger forever. But the Falcon's clipped wings still hadn't healed.
Pale optics lingered over his knights, sword meeting sword, as they prepared for the Long Night approaching. The falling snow brought a bit of comfort despite it's eerie significance; WINTER IS HERE. Yet the only thoughts that came to the forefront of his mind were snowfalls in the garden of the Eryie. His home. It was a welcome change to the reminder of the man that had once controlled every aspect of his life for his own gains.
"My Lord," Yohn Royce insisted again. Having tried to reason with Robin just moments before about returning to the Vale. Robin had tried to be patient, standing straight and taking a step back from a man he respected too much to lose his temper on. Still, his eyes screamed.
"What would my father have done?" Robin asked instead, taking a deep breath as he tried not to let the poison into his thoughts: he doesn't trust you. Again, his mother's lover lingered. "I may not be in the fight but I will not hide in my castle while men die for me, the way my mother would have intended." Another sour thought he couldn't get rid off. There was so much damage yet to be repaired on his reputation and behalf. He found it exhausting. Lord Royce agreed with an expression of pride that was mixed with sorrow.
"I need some air," Robin finished. As if the open training grounds weren't enough freedom for his lungs. He dragged furs and feathers all the way to the Godswoods, the light shining through the leaves kissing his face. It was foreign but welcoming in terms of the solitude. Unfortunately that solitude did not seem to last very long...
