To Bruce Lannister, the North seemed much as he imagined it would, almost entirely baron wastes marked only by scattered forests and pieces of woodland ruled by hardy men full of honour and chivalry seeming oblivious to goings on of their own lands much less that of others, 'Not that it matters' thought the young lion 'Ignorance can be bliss.' Bruce Lannister (Techincally Baratheon were it not for a certain 'hard-to-please' Warden of the West) stood nearly 6 foot tall, with still more room to grow, sea-green eyes a mix of both his parents the King Robert and Queen Cersei, his face held stone gravity of the Baratheon's marked by wit and cunning that was typically common of Lannister's in their youth. His head was shrouded in a mop of block locks which cascaded down his face. His cheeks were over whelmed by the makings of a beard though his chin had yet to surrender to the same fate which at 14 was extremly irritating. His shoulders were broad, with arms carrying bulk to match carved from years of contiuous drill in Casterly Rock and tourney's at Highgarden. He had long legs and his height was in great debt to as they had been toned by long rides in his ventures in the Westerlands and Reach. Bruce was certainlly impressive in his appearance.
He was glad of it in the harsh cold of the North. The journey from King's Landing had been long and boring as was expected but Bruce felt increasingly weary given that, according to his father, Winterfell was now less than a stones throw away. Bruce was greatful for this encouragement as despite the the lion fur coat even with the head/hood pulled over his head he still felt the chill, showed this every time a breeze ran past him. "Cold dear nephew? I thought all that Lion's blood in you meant you were impervious to the cold." Jested his Uncle Tyrion who rode beside him, "No," he replied "merely thinking of what my father will do when he sees Lord Stark." Tyrion chuckled "Slap him or kiss him?" "Both I should imagine." answered Tyrion's bother, Jaime on their Nephew's left "I certainly think it'll be intresting." said Bruce as he grimaced from hearing his father's roaring from the front of the collum.
Jaime looked at his nephew "Why don't you ride at the front with the King?" Bruce simply snickered "And listen to his ravings on 'if it weren't for that bloody carrige we'd be there by now!' or his story of how he caved someone's skull in with that fucking warhammer he thinks he can still swing. If he weren't so fat he probably could!" Tyrion laughed and said "Our Robert certainly has been putting weight on recently. Why aren't you riding with the King brother dear?" Jaime grinned replying "Why? To protect our king's favourite son, of course." "Are you doubting my skill in murder, brother?" demanded Tyrion in voice honeycombed in humour, "Never, dear Tyrion merely stating that our Sweet Prince can never be over guarded." Bruce tried to respond to his Uncle's but was cut off "Well I think tha-" "GET THAT FLOPPY HAIRED PRICK UP HERE! BOY! BOY!? GET UP HERE NOW!" Bruce shuddered at the bellowing of his father. "Pray for me." he told his Uncle's as he broke off from the collum to gallop off to his father, his lion head hood falling backward as he did so.
Bruce enjoyed the feeling of wind rushing through his hair as he rode up the collum, passing the royal carriage that his mother and younger siblings as he went, overtaking Kingsguard and the Lannister retinue alike, the clanging of his waraxe on his stag helm and his hand-hammer on his longsword softened into melody as he sped up to the front of the Royal Caravanas he began to reach earshot of his father he slowed to a trot, breathed in through his nose and in his most rashionable tone of voice called out "You summond me, Father." his father turned back to look at him as he drew along side. "Take that bloody stupid thing off yer head and get yer helmet on! Your leading the rearguard into Winterfell, stop pissing yourself over the cold and show these Starks what a real Baratheon looks like, Boy." Bruce frowned at his Father "Why me? Where's Joffery?" he questioned. King Robert snorted "Showing the world what a true Baratheon doesn't look like. Him and his Dog have been spitting every passing Northerner since we left the Twins and wrapping himself in his Mother's skirt every time the wind picks up." Bruce scowled at the King "Maybe you'd do the same if you could feel anything beneath all that fat and bearskin!" he spat as he pulled away from the collum again to avoid the most of his father's wroth.
As Bruce pulled up toward his Uncle's, their eyebrows raised in questioning he answered "We must be nearing Winterfell. I'm to lead the rearguard into it." Jaime nodded and fixed his helm on "I must go find Ser Barristan then. I shall see both a Winterfell."he said as he took off in the direction Bruce had just come. Tyrion regarded his nephew and beamed like a cat "I'll see you at the feast tonight then dear, Bruce. I have been feeling a certain itch coming on ever since we left Moat Calin" Bruce smiled and tossed a gold dragon at his Uncle "Your first drinks on me then!" he shouted as kicked off to the rear of the collum. When he got their he growled as he looked at his helm. a stags head with a pair of obnoxiously large horns jutted out "As if that's any more stupid" he snorted and pulled the lion's head back over his own.
