Location: Corridors of Winterfell OPEN
Don’t die so far from the Sea The footfalls of the handful of Ironborn were a loud echo in the stone corridors. There were 5 in total, leather capes heavy with dried sea salt, cheeks ruddy in the cold North. At the head of the group, the tallest of the men had a swagger to his step, his long strides and heavy shoulders taking up space and giving servants cause to step away. Upon his back, unlike the others, he bore a sigil. The golden Kraken of House Greyjoy was set against a clock of worn ebony, the beast coiled in on itself and at the same time, as large as the man who bore him.
Victarion Greyjoy finally came to a stop, lingering at a three way crossroads of hallways but it was out, over the open balcony that overlooked the courtyard of the castle, that he motioned too. There was a few moments, in which he and his men murmured among themselves, gesturing to the far away horizon, toward where the sea would have met the shore. Victarion was stoic, almost grave faced as he eyed the expanse of land. Krakens were not meant for dry land, and they were not at all meant for the halls of Winterfell. The last Greyjoy that had called the castle home had died cockless and weak. Victarion narrowed his gaze and longed for the gentle lick of an early morning tide against the hull of his Stormborn. He did not belong here.
His men grew quiet suddenly and the silence had Victarion turning to glance over his shoulder. At once, he was smiling, cocky and self assured. “You looked surprised to see us.” There was a rumbling of a chuckle through the group of men at his side. “-theres nothing strange about a fellow King attending a coronation. not that many greenlanders turned up to mine”
Anxious was not a word anyone in the Riverlands would use to describe Mariya, and she was determined to keep it that way. With each guest welcomed into the halls the tension in the air seemed to solidify. It was only mid morning when it became so thick that she feared no air would be left. A foolish thought. A coronation should be a joyous occasion, she muttered to one of her siblings, not this precarious tiptoeing everyone is attempting. Dramatic, now that was a word that perfectly described the redhead.
Maintaining an appearance of calm happiness was an easier task when she wasn’t in the hall of a murdered king, and she was in desperate need of a break. Relying on the rhythmic swishing of her skirts and a breath of fresh air Mariya had thought to calm her nerves on a nearby balcony. Foolishly thinking she would find it empty she had frozen like a deer at the sight of a golden kraken looming in front of her. Their chuckle at her expense served to unfreeze her joints. With her lips pressed into a thin line she shook her head. “Forgive me. I hadn’t thought to find anyone out here.” Mariya bent her head in an informal curtsy before she stepped backwards. “I shall find another place to take some air.”
