"How long do you think the fucking Lions will last?" Jon asks in a loud voice, eyeing the barmaid as he downs his third cup of wine. The girl was easy on the eyes, a curvy frame compounding well with her unimpressive, though naturally sultry, features. Ulfric fights down a smile. It is always amusing to him when Jon tries out of his way to impress a wench.
"I reckon they'll be crushed before the end of the year." Harold laughs, his naturally optimistic tone made Ulfric want to believe he was right. The trip to the local tavern was fully sponsored by Borys's bag of coins. He was quick to relinquish his ill-gained coffers to Ulfric when Ulfric threatened to inform Captain Horas of the true perpetrators behind that little "Pleasure Den". It wasn't much, but it bought Ulfric and company a well-needed break from the battle and firewood duty.
"I heard that the Lannisters have whole dungeons full of gold. You think we could snatch some when we take Casterly Rock?" Jon's eyes light up as he imagined the unrivaled wealth of the house of red and gold.
"You think the lords will let us waltz into the gold reserves and just casually grab a few bars?" Ulfric puts a quick end to the younger boy's fantasy, the thought of nobility left a bitter aftertaste to his wine.
Jorah nods, setting his cup down. "You'll be lucky to grab a single crown stag from Casterly Rock."
"But what if we fight really well. Maybe we'll be named bannermen." Harold's eyes turn dreamy. "Hell, I might even get to marry one of His Grace's sisters."
His overly optimistic outlook prompted the other four to burst out laughing. "You? Fight well? The Others would march through the bloody Wall before you get named bannerman." Jon gives Harold a hard slap on his back.
"Hey, stop laughing at me. I've got everything planned out." Harold joins in the laughing, even though the laughter was directed at him. "So, listen. When we storm King's Landing, you guys will help me grab a guard or something. I'll beat the living shit out of him and force him to tell me where the Lady Starks are held. Then you guys will support me as I charge into the keep and save Lady Sansa. You can have Lady Arya, Jon."
The ridiculous plan prompts even more laughter. "Oi! You can have Lady Arya. I'll be helping myself to Lady Sansa."
"And during our wedding, Ulfric will play The Queen Took Off Her Sandal, The King Took Off His Crown, then the crowd will go wild as they carry us back to the bedroom." Harold ignores Jon's retort. "Then, in a few years, my house will be full of little lords and ladies running around."
Ulfric smiles. He wonders how long the five of them will be able to have this mindless banter together. With each upcoming battle, it was harder and harder to imagine all five of them will make it out alive. He knows the others are aware of this painful fact as well. He could see the glint of uncertainty in their laughing eyes, though all five of them tries to bury it behind a facade of humour.
Ulfric takes a sip of his wine, the cool drink flowing down his throat in a satisfying stream. "Instead of dreaming about marrying a lady, just be grateful that no one noticed us leaving. If Old Man Horas found out, we' be assigned to..."
"... guard duty." Ulfric groans quietly. Here he is, back in front of King Robb's bedroom again, the same constricting helmet; the same crushing monotony; the same suffocating silence. Though, this time he was inside the room rather than outside. Fucking Borys! I'll get you once I'm back.
His posture was more uptight than the last time he guarded the door, as King Robb laid in his bed, his wound neatly bandaged. A hint of jasmine permeates the room, Ulfric notes, a rather uncharacteristic fragrance for the Young Wolf. The room is spacious, though bland and very under-furbished for the master bedroom of the keep. The King's direwolf, Grey Wind eyes Ulfric cautiously, as if judging his loyalty. The creature made Ulfric uneasy. He had seen what it could do on the battlefield, mauling a whole man clad in armour to shreds. Its eyes seem alert and intelligent, almost otherworldly intelligent, and they stared at Ulfric, almost directly into his soul.
"You do not need to worry about Grey Wind. He will not hurt my own men." The King's voice resonates in the room, strong and commanding. Ulfric turns his gaze towards the Yong Wolf. He seems a lot better now, no longer pale from his wound. King Robb gives Ulfric a reassuring smile, and for the first time in a long while, Ulfric realised the King was not much older than he is. His Grace was barely a man, yet he seemed much more mature and commanded much more obedience than Ulfric.
"Yes, Your Grace." Ulfric nods and, in a conscious effort to appear relaxed, slouches slightly.
"What's your name?" The King starts up some friendly banter with his guard, perhaps in an attempt to make the young man more at ease.
"Ulfric, Your Grace." Ulfric replies courteously. His helmet seems slightly tilted to the side, but he was afraid any sudden moves would provoke the large creature resting beside the King.
"One of Umber's men?"
"No, Your Grace, my pa ran an alehouse in the winter town."
"The Smoking Log?" The King's face looks genuinely intrigued.
"Aye, you know of the place, Your Grace?" Ulfric never recalled seeing any of the Starks visiting their alehouse.
"Yes. I remember your sister. She has a beautiful voice. Her performance in the feast a couple of years ago was breathtaking. What is her name?"
"Mya, Your Grace." Ulfric felt a flurry of emotion as the King mentions the feast. If only we didn't perform at that feast...
As if sensing this barrage of emotions inside him, Grey Wind growls, prompting the Young Wolf to put a hand on its mane, calming it down. "So you were the one who played the lute to accompany her. I'm glad that the two of you performed that night. My mother wanted to hire a travelling band of performers, but Jory insisted that the two of you had the most amazing performances in all of the Seven Kingdoms. In the end, my father," The King's face darkened at the mention of his father, and Grey Wind whimpered, "decided that it was more fitting for Northmen to perform for the Karstarks."
Ulfric stiffens at the mention of the Karstarks. "You're too kind, Your Grace." As if sensing his discomfort, the King falls into silence, the two of them brooding over two different tragic events, Ulfric at the feast, and Robb at the execution of his father.
The gloomy atmosphere was interrupted by a timid knock on the door. A soft voice entered the room through the door, "May I enter, Your Grace?"
The King's face visibly lightens when he heard her. Nodding towards Ulfric, the King replies, "Please do, my Lady."
Ulfric shifts over to the door and pulls it open gingerly. He was greeted by two faces, one with a gentle smile and the other with a murderous glare.
Lady Jeyne gracefully walks over beside the King's bed, performing an elegant curtsy. Her handmaiden follows closely after her, taking a small detour to accidentally step on Ulfric's foot as she passes by.
"Lily, place the basket here and wait for me outside. I will take care of the rest." "Ulfric, Lady Jeyne will take care of me, you should keep an eye on the door outside." The two spoke in perfect unison. Lady Jeyne blushes prettily, and the King scratches the back of his head ruefully, an awkward silence enveloping the two. Ulfric caught on, and, deciding to leave the two to their privacy, clears his throat, "As you wish, Your Grace," before leaving the room.
"Stop staring at me, peasant." The handmaiden spits in disdain. It was evident that she wanted nothing to do with Ulfric, but she was stuck here, just like him. The past quarter of an hour was spent in silence as she occasionally cast a glare towards Ulfric.
"Oh, I'm so sorry for casting my gaze on a knight's breeding stock." Ulfric snickers, his helmet finally sitting completely upright after the millionth minute adjustment he made to its position.
"What did you call me?" Her eyes widened in rage, and Ulfric could see her fists trembling as she grips the side of her dress.
"What do you think will happen after your lady whores you out to her knights? You get married and live happily ever after? What a fucking joke. You'll just be there to bring your husband children, while he fucks other women he lusts after." His lashes his words out at her mercilessly. "And you bet there will be innocent girls throwing themselves at him. Who wouldn't want a handsome gallant knight to sweep them off their feet. What a fucking load of horse shit."
"And you're soooooo much better than the knights, Ser Guard. Go back to your cheap brothels and cheap wine. I'd rather be with an unfaithful knight than a vulgar scoundrel like you." Ulfric could hear the anger in her voice, and he felt a tinge of guilt. The girl never actually wronged him, but yet here he was, attacking her with his venomous words. Her attitude irked him, but does that justify his cruel words, or was he merely taking his frustration out on her since her naivety reminded him so much of his failure to protect Mya.
"Suit yourself, I guess." He replies coldly.
His curt reply took the girl aback, her face seemed to ask that's it? She eyes him suspiciously, as if anticipating his next wave of verbal abuse. Seeing that he has no intention of continuing the verbal assault, she visibly relaxes, her flushed face cooling down.
"Why do you hate the nobles so much?" The question pierces their ceasefire silence, "Without them, there's no one to protect us smallfolk. No one to keep the peace, no one to stop bandits from roaming, and no one to bring justice to the wicked."
Ulfric grunts an intelligible reply, a bit annoyed that she broke the silence, but at the same time glad that the hostile atmosphere dissipated somewhat. She continues, speaking of the honourable lords and the kind ladies. Ulfric can't help but notice how pretty she is when she isn't angrily glaring at him, her slender hands alive with animation as she speaks.
"Stop staring at me, peasant." This time, the words had far less hostility instilled. "And answer my question."
"What?" Ulfric blinks, confused.
The girl rolls her eyes in exasperation, "I asked you, why do you hate the highborn so much."
Ulfric sighs, sitting down on the floor. "I don't know... I just... don't like the way they treat us smallfolk." He gives her a vague answer, hoping it would satisfy her.
"Didn't you hear what I said about-, oh nevermind..." She sits down beside him. "What's your name? I don't want to call you 'you' or 'Ser Guard' all the time."
Ulfric snickers, "You were angry at me a moment ago and now you want to know my name?"
A sly smirk appears on her face, "Maybe I'm just asking you so that I could tattle to your King about your misbehaviour." She wraps her arms around her knees.
"Ulfric, son of Ullric, the Second of His Name, the Bearer of Drinks, the Handsome Stallion in the North, the Great Hero of Smoking Lo-" He couldn't help but burst out laughing along with the girl's giggles.
"Then I'm Lily Fairmaiden, the First of Her Name, the Beauty of the West, the Lady of Love and Beauty." Lily introduces herself in turn between fits of giggles.
"Beauty of the West? I wouldn't marry you even if I were a fucking bear." Ulfric laughs, prompting Lily to stick her tongue out at him.
"And if you're the Handsome Stallion in the North, then I feel sorry for the Northern women." She retorts, relaxing her posture slightly.
"Yeah, I feel sorry for them too. There's only one of me, not enough to go around." Ulfrick counters, giving Lily an exaggerated wink.
"You know, I would have mistaken you for a knight, until you opened your mouth." Lily says in feigned disgust, stifling back a smile.
"Sorry for shattering your fantasy, but some knights talk like this when they're not around ladies, too." Ulfric smirks and kneels in an exaggerated manner, parodying the knights of the south. "Perhaps my Lady would prefer if I spoke like this."
Lily places a finger on her chin, as if pondering whether Ulfric's little skit was acceptable or not.
A small giggle from behind the two catches their attention. Ulfric stared directly at Lady Jeyne, who caught the two in their little theatrical display. Behind her, the King's stoic face gave way to a hint of a smile. "Ser Ulfric, would you escort Lady Jeyne and her companion back to their chambers?" Deciding to humour their display, the King commands with a slight smile.
"What the fuck are you smiling about?" Harold asks as he unfastens his sword from his belt, throwing it over towards Edd, who catches it and sets it down.
"Nothing." Ulfric replies as he pulls his helmet off his sweat covered face.
"Two fucking days in a row... I just want some bloody rest!" Jon whines, plopping down on his mattress. Shaking his head, Jorah kicks his boots aside, "Maybe I should stop following you idiots around everywhere."
"Awww, come on Jorah, how can you say that to your friends?" Jon turns around, striking a mildly seductive pose. "You know you want to be with me, honey."
Jorah rolls his eyes and picks up his boots before launching one across the tent, the heel landing squarely on Jon's face. "Fuck off, Lord Pissmouth."
Joining in the laughter, Ulfric rolls onto his mattress. Ser Ulfric...? Not bad...