Author's Note: Hey guys, sorry for the delay in the update, I hit a bit of a wall for a few days, but I'm glad to see everyone is still enjoying it. In this chapter we'll be meeting a few more characters, including some canon ones so as always, please review and let me know what you think, especially on my portrayal of the characters. It would be a huge help to let me know what you think of the OC characters as well, so I know what needs to be improved on. Anyways, enjoy!
Iagan
It had been three days of hard riding, but they were finally nearing the Mander. They couldn't have been more than half a day away, and once they crossed the river they were home free, or at least, at the Tyrell's mercy instead of the Lannisters. They were running short of time. The wedding was only days away, and if he didn't warn Robb in time, it would all be for nought. He breathed a sigh of relief though. He had managed to bring his men out of the trap that had been sent for them, and although they lost many good men, some would make it out.
His horse bucked underneath him, apparently startled by something. "Captain! Riders!" Crispian shouted.
"Lannister bastards coming over the hill!" Another man yelled.
Shit. He thought. It was too good. It can never be easy, can it? I just had to relax. He wondered to the gods. He spurred his horse into a gallop, his men riding hard behind them to outpace the Lannister soldiers. He stole a glance over his shoulder. There were nearly one hundred Lannister knights bearing down on them, riding over the crest of the hill. There was no way they could handle all of them. The Mander was getting closer though. He could see it's glistening waters drifting lazily among the reeds and rushes. The Lannisters were getting closer now. Their hoofbeats rose to become a thunderous roar in his ears, and the dust his men's horses kicked up was blinding. He unslung his bow from his back, firing his last two arrows into the Lannister host, downing two riders and tripping a few others up, but it was hardly enough to make a dent. The Lannister riders were closing. After three hard days of riding, their own horses were exhausted, and the Lannister's must have been fresh.
There was no way they could outrun them. They were closing too fast. Their only hope was that they could fight them off. Iagan rapidly scanned the area for anywhere they could defend, but there was nothing. No grove of trees to conceal themselves in, no bridge to cross, just a tiny island in the Mander, no more than a few horses long or wide. The water was shallow, their horses could cross it easily, but it would have to serve.
"To the bank!" He called, slinging his bow over his shoulder and drawing his longsword. His feet dug into his horse's side, banking towards the island with all possible speed. "Take up defensive positions! We have to hold them! We have to hold them! Form a defensive line!" He waved his men around behind him as they reached the island, water splashing up at his face as hooves splashed through the stream. He could hear the scrape of steel on leather as his men drew their own weapons. A few more arrows were loosed, hurtling into the Clegane horsemen. He could only hope they found their mark. The horsemen were no more than a hundred paces away and closing fast. He could hear their war whoops and battle cries as they charged in, axes and swords slashing through the air. A few were unhorsed as their horses stumbled and tripped on the slick stones in the river, blocking the stream, and forcing the rest to dismount or risk tripping over the struggling horses. Both sides stared at one another for a moment, before the Clegane men at arms rushed in, screaming like madmen.
At first, the fight went their way. They were far better trained than these thieves, rapers, and murderers, and were more than a match for them in a fair fight. A man ran towards Iagan, his battleaxe glinting in the midday light. He slashed wildly, and Iagan ducked under the blow, gutting him with his longsword. Another man sliced at him with his sword, but Iagan easily parried the blow, and counterattacked, sending the man sprawling backwards into his comrades, where Iagan quickly finished him off, before turning on his comrades.
But this was not a fair fight. Soon, the fight began to turn against them. Iagan stabbed, catching a man in the throat above his armor, and the man fell, clutching at the wound and gurgling blood. But a spear caught in the back of the leg, slicing across the back of his thigh, the wound stinging. He quickly dispatched the offender, and staggered back to the safety of his own men, fighting desperately to hold the Clegane men back. But it was to no avail. One by one his men were separated and picked off, and for every man they killed three more took his place, as his line was driven back. He saw Dorren cut down three knights, dispatching them all with quick, lethal blows to the throat with his twin daggers, before an axe split his back, and he was dispatched with a spear thrust. He saw another man slip on the bloodstained sand, and as he pleaded for mercy, was silenced by a mace to the head. From the Clegane lines, he saw a huge man striding forward, the Clegane dogs painted on his armor. He held a massive broadsword so large many men couldn't even lift it, let alone wield it, in one hand, and a gargantuan oak shield in the other, emblazoned with the Clegane colors. He strode forward, as blows glanced off his armor. His sword cut through his men easily. One man was nearly split in two as the sword carved into him. Iagan rushed back into the fray, his sword singing, slick with blood. His hamstring stung, blood sticking to his britches and running down his leg. He fought his way towards the massive man, Gregor Clegane, intending to fight him, cutting down seven Lannister soldiers before reaching him. Clegane buried his sword deep in another man's belly, twisting and wrenching it out with a grotesque sucking noise, and the man collapsed to the ground. Iagan struck, his sword glancing off the massive man's armor, barely leaving a dent. The man turned towards him. He brought his broadsword down, and Iagan barely managed to stop the blow from cleaving him in two, as he deflected the slash to the side off his own sword, struggling to stay on his feet as the force of the blow forced him to his knees. He was so focused on the sword, he didn't see the massive shield coming around.
It hit him in the side of the face. His vision blurred as he was knocked to the ground. He could feel the damp sand on his cheek, and he nearly blacked out. But he forced himself to retain consciousness. He rolled over, reaching desperately for his sword to block the oncoming blow, a hack that would have split him in two, but his hand found nothing. The blade whistled toward him, crimson blood already coating the steel. He could feel the drops of blood splatter on his face. He waited for the end to come.
But it didn't. The blade stopped mere inches from his body. He struggled to focus on what happened. Another blade had blocked the cut. Crispian. His men forced Gregor back, three of them fighting him at once, as two more dragged him back behind their makeshift battle line by the straps of his armor.. There weren't more than ten men left.
"Captain! Captain! IAGAN!" Crispian shouted at him, struggling to be heard over the din of battle. Steel rang against steel, intermingled with the cries of the wounded and war cries of the fighting. The metallic smell of armor and steel intermingled with the sickly sweet smell of death and smell of blood. "You need to get up! You need to escape!" His vision blurred as he struggled to make sense of Crispian's words. Crispian's face blurred, making him dizzy. He tried to stand, but couldn't. "We'll hold them off! Go!" He couldn't move. His arms and legs had seemed to stop functioning. His head lilted off to the side, and he saw Clegane cut down two more of his men, two men who had fought him to protect him, but he was powerless to stop him.
His hearing faded. He could see Crispian shouting, mouthing words at him. He saw him call to another man, as they lifted him, throwing him onto the saddle of a horse. Crispian shouted at him. He tried to focus.
"It's been an honor...serving...Captain" Crispian said, slapping the horse on the rear and nodding too him, a sad look in his eye. The horse sprung into a gallop, fleeing the fighting. His vision began to fade again, he could feel blood running down his leg, soaking his britches. The horse ran, and he slumped across its neck. He struggled to wrench the horse back to the fighting. He had to protect his men, had to save his men... His vision was fading, the world growing dark around him. He felt the jarring sensation of hooves running across stone and felt cool water on his face. The horse turned, running up the road and hill, and through the woods, and he got a last glimpse of the fighting. He saw his men butchered. He saw Crispian dive into the fray one more time, cutting down another two men, before a spear caught him in the back and he fell, Clegane's massive sword thrust through his body. He saw him fall. He saw the stream run red with blood. Then, his vision faded, and he lost consciousness.
Trysten
They had arrived at Mereen three days ago. They had been dragged off the ship, his back cracked and bleeding from the whipping, but healing nonetheless. He, Ser Daven, and the rest of his men were being kept in a sort of pen, chained to the wall, out in the sun, while the pirates tried to entice buyers. The great pyramid loomed over them, foreboding and menacing, and worse, they couldn't seem to escape the gaze of that damned harpy. She sat, looking down on them with pitiless eyes. The putrid stink of the slave pens rose from the docks.
So far, the captain had failed to attract any willing buyers. The first man he had brought had come to examine them like horses, checking their teeth and health. When he got to Trysten, he had spit on his shoes, and the master nearly slit his throat before the captain stopped him, apologizing for his insolence and warning him he would have to pay for the slave if he killed him.
They had sat in the hot sun for two more days, the acrid desert air scorching their lungs and the dust and sand blistering their faces. On the third day however, they were ushered from their pens. Slave soldiers dragged them from their sitting positions, prodding them forward with spear butts and the occasional blow. They were brought before the captain and the first mate, as well as a man dressed in silks.
That would be our new Master. Trysten thought bitterly. He examined the man, assessing him, looking for any possible way to escape or turn the situation to his advantage. He was tall for a slaver, standing nearly a head taller than the captain. His rich silks and finery cascaded around him in a dazzling array of golds, purples, blues, and reds. He was wealthy. His hands showed no callouses, and two slaves stood behind him, one holding a parasol to keep the sun off him, another fanning him. Lazy too. He thought. A pampered bastard. Should be easy enough to escape. The man was not old, but not young either, probably about his father's age.
Father. Trysten thought. What would he think if he saw me now? A slave. The master said a few words to the captain in a language Trysten didn't understand, but he recognized it as a dialect of Low-Valyrian or Ghiscari. The captain responded in kind, coins were exchanged, and the deal was done. In moments, the first mate approached each of them, unshackling them, and attaching collars to each of them. He worked his way down the line, eventually reaching him.
He unshackled his wrists. Trysten rubbed them, they were raw and sore from the chains, and he had a very obvious tan line, the skin underneath the shackles, though red and raw, was notably lighter than the skin that had been exposed to the harsh elements on the voyage. The first mate Vindonio turned the key in his ankle bracers, and he could finally move his legs. He considered running a moment, before banishing the thought from his mind. He couldn't leave his men behind to their fate. Besides, he thought I wouldn't make it twenty paces before they caught me, assuming they didn't simply shoot me down first. He dismissed the thought. No, he would have to get in this new master's good graces if he was ever to escape. The first mate attached a collar around his neck. Trysten winced as the cold iron touched his tender back. The first mate leaned closer, clasping the collar on and securing it firmly in the back.
"You've got spirit kid, but sooner or later, everybody breaks. Don't make this harder on yourself than it has to be." Vindonio whispered to him. Trysten gave him a small nod, acknowledging him.
"Thank you. For 're a good man." He whispered under his breath, trying not to draw attention to himself or the first mate. He tried to keep his face level, to show no emotion. This man, who was currently selling him into a life of slavery, had been his savior, perhaps even saved his life. "I shall pay you back one day" Trysten told him.
Before he knew it, the ship, the pirates, the captain, and Vidonio, were gone. He and the other slaves were forced into a small caged cart, which was hauled up, past the docks and behind the city walls. The gates parted before them, as they passed under the arches. The city's stink was overpowering, but it was somehow beautiful. The sandstone buildings crowded the street on either side, and people dressed in fine, exotic clothing walked up and down the alleyways and streets, going about their business. He saw Masters, slaves in tow, pampering them, walking to and from their villas, artisans and craftsmen calling out their wares and offering them to anyone within earshot, children running across the sandstone streets, kicking up dust and darting in between the legs of the oxen and horses, weaving through the crowd. He smiled as he remembered his own home.
"We'll get home one day lord" Daven said to him confidently.
"I hope you're right Daven, I sincerely do." He replied. Another man spoke up.
"I know you'll think of something Lord. You got us out alive from that mess with the pirates."
"I'm not your lord anymore," he answered, and perhaps dying free is worth more than a life enslaved, he thought darkly, "and now we're all just slaves together. No need for the formalities. What's your name man?" He felt guilty. He had doomed these men to lives of slavery and hard labor, and he hardly knew any of them.
"Alexander, first marine of the fourth naval brigade, Silversides" he told him.
"Alexander" Trysten repeated, committing the name to memory. "Well, if we're going to be working together we might as well get to know each other. Your name sailor?" He asked, looking at another Silverside.
"Andray, Marine, 4th naval Brigade, Silversides" the man told him. They spent the rest of the wagon ride quietly swapping names and becoming familiar. Trysten rapidly became acquainted with the other men he was captured with. There were nine of them, including Daven and himself. They each introduced themselves; Alexander, the highest ranking man among the Silversides with them, Andray, a young man no older than himself from Pinnella Pass, his older brother Brandon, Brom, a quiet man, the oldest in the unit at nearly forty name days, Domeric, an orphan from Star's reach who had just joined the Silversides, Alexander's squire Duncan, and Raymond, a loud, boisterous man who claimed he beat Balon Greyjoy in the finger dance, much to all their enjoyment.
The wagon stopped near midday. One of the slave soldiers unlocked the cart door, and they were brought out to the central grounds of what appeared to be their new Master's Villa. Trysten squinted at the bright light. They stood on the cobbled common ground, the large, marbled building looming up in front of them. In the center of the grounds stood a whipping post, and behind it a white marble fountain which trickled water down. Trysten became suddenly aware of how horribly thirsty he was.
"Best you avoid that one" Daven whispered to him, gesturing to the whipping post, earning him a cuff on the ear from one of the guards. Trysten could hear the clatter of hoofbeats on stone, and the Master rode in, pausing before them on his horse, and dismounting as two slaves took the mare away. He could hardly believe his eyes. The master was riding his own horse, Quicksilver. At his hip hung Dawnbringer. Trysten's eyes blazed with fury, but Alexander grabbed his wrist, squeezing tightly. "Don't do anything foolish Trysten" he told him quietly. Trysten did his best to relax, his fury subsiding as the man approached them. Trysten completely ignored him, his eyes tracking the slaves who led Quicksilver out of the courtyard. It can't hurt to know where they keep the horses, especially Quicksilver, he thought.
"I am Abdus Salam Afzal," the man said, seeming to enjoy the way his own name sounded, relishing his own majesty. Trysten scoffed under his breath. "I'm sure you have heard of me. It was I who vanquished the Dothraki horde who attacked Mereen, my wealth and power are beyond compare." He paused again, letting his words sink in. Clearly he was used to people gawking and groveling before him. "You shall find me a generous Master. I shall provide each of you with a bed, food, and proper attire, and in return you shall cater to me. Please me, and you shall be rewarded, but disobey me..." He trailed off menacingly, his right hand grasping Dawnbringer's hilt and his left trailing towards the gilded Arakh he wore at his hip. He looked towards the whipping post. The message was clear. Obey or be punished.
"You" he said, approaching Trysten. "Captain Izzat has told me of you. He said you have spirit. Perhaps a new fighter for the pits?" Trysten said nothing.
"I would feed you well, you would have women, food, drink, wealth, anything you desire" he told him, waiting for a response. Trysten remained silent.
"Fool." Afzal muttered under his breath. "So be it. You shall serve me as a scribe and cupbearer."
Trysten was taken away from his men. As he was led through the Villa, he marveled at the beauty of the slaver's home. It had high, arching ceilings, adorned with gilded tiles depicting beautiful, far off places. The smell of lemons drifted through the halls, and sunlight illuminated the long corridors, passing between the columns. The guards hauled him forward, ripping off his shoddy garments. Trysten gasped in agony as his old, rough cotton garments were torn off, bringing with them the dried blood and scabs that had clung to them and had become tangled in the cloth. He tried not to faint as a wave a pain washed over him, and he could feel blood begin to well up in the gashes. The poultice had helped heal the worst of his injuries, but he knew he was a long way from a full recovery.
"Put these on" one guard said to him, tossing him a pile of clothing. It was soft and cool to the touch. Silk. Apparently the ever so generous Master Afzal wanted his slaves to look just as extravagant as he was.
"And you best bandage that back. The Master won't want you bleeding through your new clothes." The guard said. "This here's your bed. You will rise every morning at first light, and sleep when the Master wills it." Trysten examined his new quarters. They were sparse to say the least, and as he examined the straw cot he couldn't help but feel nostalgic for his chamber in Star's Reach. He could see the flees hopping on the rough linen sheet, and rat droppings littered the floor of the dimly lit room, the only warmth coming from torches on the walls which only partially heated the cold stale air.
"You two are slaves too?" He asked them. He could see the collar on their necks, but was surprised they dared to give their slaves weapons.
"I've served him for nearly a decade" the older guard said.
"And I only a year" the other added.
"Yet he gave you two weapons." Trysten noted. The older one turned to him "that'll be all Zetes, go find the Master, I'm sure he has need of us." The man waited for his partner to leave. "You're new here. I saw those scars on your back. Believe me, compared to Afzal, those pirates were merciful. To defy him means death. To even insinuate revolt is dangerous. The master has spies everywhere, feeding him details."
"How would you know that?" Trysten asked. He wanted to know every detail about this Master. If he was ever to escape, he needed to have all the facts, and he needed to know who he could trust.
"I learned it firsthand. He's cruel, brutal. Don't provoke his wrath." The man said, removing his helmet. Trysten did his best to stifle a gasp. Hidden behind the face mask of the helmet, a huge, jagged scar ran across the man's face. "Bastard gave me this when I asked for a bit more bread, to give to my daughter." The man said angrily. "Told me I was lucky he gave me anything for her, since he hadn't given me permission to 'breed'". The guard told him bitterly.
"You have a daughter?"
"Had. He sold her two years ago. She died in the salt mines." A dark scowl grew across the man's face.
"I'm sorry. And your wife?"
"He killed her after the last slave revolt." Trysten was quiet.
"You must've earned the wrath of some god to end up here in this hellhole." The man told him sadly. "And once you're here, you never leave. You'll be lucky to survive the month. Where're you from lad?"
"Westeros. I'm Braavosi myself. You westerosi are soft. You'll be dead within a week if you fools don't learn to survive here. This place has it's own rules."
"Then teach me how. I'll be damned if that bastard kills me or any of my men."
"Your men?" The man asked.
"Forgive me, I should introduce myself. Trysten Fadyn, Lord of Star's Reach." He said, holding out his hand. The man took it, firmly shaking his hand.
"Fiorenzo. And if you want to protect your men, keep quiet. Do as the Master bids. He doesn't take kindly to threats." His beard twitched with anger.
"So I've gathered."
"Tell you what," Fiorenzo told him, his armor glinting in the light of the torches that illuminated the slaves quarters "you give me half your meals, and i'll make sure no harm comes to you or that new bunch he just bought. The other guards respect me, give me half your rations and I might convince them to go easy on them with the beatings."
Trysten considered it for a moment. Could he trust this man? The Braavosi were never known for their honor, they put pride before all else. But he had to secure his men's safety. Even if it put him in peril, he couldn't risk it. Besides, it might help to have a friend among the guards.
"Deal."
"Congrats. You've learned your first lesson. Stay in the favor of those who could kill you."
Maerisa
She had arrived at the Stark camp earlier that morning. With her was a small contingent of Rangers who escorted her, and they were taken through the camp to the command tent. The soldiers guarding the tent blocked her path, before a voice from inside told them to let her pass, and she was allowed inside.
She entered the tent, her eyes adjusting from the bright sunlight to the darkness within the tent, illuminated by firelight.
"Maerisa! It's so good to see you!" It was her uncle Scipio. He had only visited Star's Reach four or five times in her life, but he was always a kind man and he doted on his oldest niece.
"Uncle Scipio!" She said happily, running towards him. He hugged her, lifting her up in his arms and spinning her around just like he used to when she was a little girl. She giggled happily as he put her down.
"Gods you've grown. Step back and let me get a good look at you". She stepped back, giving him a chance to look at her. The last time he had seen her was on her tenth name day, and she had changed immensely since then. Scipio hadn't changed at all from the last time she had seen him. His oily black hair was slicked back, and his face was rough and covered in stubble. He war simple, practical armor, dented and worn from battle. She remembered sitting on his lap in the great hall of Star's Reach as he told her stories about wear each dent had come from.
"You're beautiful Maerisa, just like your mother. How does she fare?" He told her, sincerely. Uncle Scipio may have been a gruff, tough man, but he loved his family.
"She's doing well uncle. She's been distraught over father, and it'll take time to heal, but she'll move on eventually." Scipio nodded understandably.
"Marius' passing has been hard on all of us. I know your brother took it harder than most. Speaking of him, have you heard any word from him in Volantis?"
"Nothing uncle, at least, not since I'd left." She saw Scipio's eyes flicker for a moment with concern "I'm sure he's fine though, the Margate is one of the finest ships in the fleet, and she's manned by nearly seventy Silversides."
"You're right. I'm sure he's fine, and the little ones?" He questioned.
"Not so little anymore uncle" she laughed, and he smiled. "Seamus and Tania are both growing fast. Seamus has decided he'll become the finest knight the Vale has ever seen".
"And I'm sure one day he will" Scipio told her confidently.
"And what of your family uncle?" She asked him.
"They are well. Hannah and the children are staying in Highgarden. They've become close with the Tyrells, they are cousins after all." He said, staring at the map displayed in the center of the room. She could see the different pieces laid out across the table, denoting the positions of armies and fleets.
"Uncle?" She asked uncertainly, running her hands through her hair nervously.
"Yes my lady?"
"How are we faring in this war? Truly?" He paused for a moment, considering what to say. When he had visited, he had always tried to conceal the horrors of war from her and her siblings. But growing up in Star's Reach, it was inevitable they learned. The city was famed for the skill of it's soldiers, and the best source of skill was experience. She had grown up surrounded by soldiers, she was well familiar with their courtesies and mannerisms, gruff and brusque as they might be.
"That's no worry for a lady-" he began to tell her, before she cut him off.
"Truly uncle Scipio. I can handle it. How do we fare?" He sighed, frustrated.
"It's been a struggle, and continue to be so. One misstep," he paused, considering the map "and all will be lost. King Robb has made me one of his chief advisors at your brother's behest, and its a trying duty. The boy is cunning, that much is certain, but he is young and can be bullheaded and foolish at times. Our host is weakened from fighting. The men are tired and need to rest. Tywin sits with his army at Harrenhall, and from there he sends out Clegane to pillage, rape, and burn the riverlands, and we are powerless to stop him."
"Why not hunt him down? Use the rangers?" She asked.
"We tried that. Iagan had been sent south with a company of outriders to scout and harass with a larger Ranger contingent. We lost contact with him a few days past. It seems Tywin has blinded us to his actions. We know he is raising another host in the Westerlands, but not much else. If he were to march on us now, I fear we may not be able to hold him off," he sighed, rubbing his eyes, staring intently at the map, as if hoping the winning move of the war would fall right into his hands. He looked exhausted. "And King Robb has put me in charge of all of our bannermen, and looks to me for counsel." She could tell he was stressed and exhausted.
"Fear not uncle, I'm sure when Trysten returns the Volantene's will help us."
"I hope you're right Maerisa" he told her, a sad smile playing across his lifts. She smiled back at him, and he seemed to cheer up.
"But this is no worry of yours."He reassumed his air of confidence and self assurance. "I am sure you're tired from your journey. You should rest. After all, you must look your best, plenty of noble young lords here looking for a beautiful lady." She laughed. "I expect you to join the men and I at dinner tonight." He told her. "Who knows? Perhaps one will catch your fancy." She winced at the idea, not particularly thrilled at the thought of being courted.
"I shall uncle, see you at dinner." She exited the tent, walking back through the camp. She could see her retinue setting up her own tent nearby, but first she had to check on Thunder.
It took some time, she nearly became lost three or four times as she wandered throughout the camp, but luckily a friendly soldier was always there to point her in the right direction. She found the stables, a makeshift lean too, and after a quick chat with the stable boy, she was allowed into Thunder's stall, where she brushed his mane and coat. It always seemed to calm her. Brushing him put her into a sort of trance, soothing her and calming her nerves before the night's events. She was startled by a voice from behind her.
"Beautiful horse, is he yours?"
She turned, surprised. Behind her stood a young man, not much older than her, probably around Trysten's age. Like her uncle, he war simple, practical armor. It fit him loosely. He was not bulky or tall, but certainly handsome in a rough way, his dark hair combed messily, and unlike Trysten, he had a beard.
"You startled me!" She scolded him, doing her best to give him an angry look. He merely smiled and laughed.
"Forgive me, my Lady. I had simply come to check on my own." He was formal, probably the son of some noble lord or other. She tried to ignore him as he approached. Thunder watched him intently, and from the corner of her eye she could see him place his hand on Thunder's head, stroking him gently. He removed an apple from the satchel around his back, holding it in front of Thunder, who crunched into it eagerly, whinnying with delight. He looked back at her, crunching on his apple.
Traitor. She glared at her horse, but he shook his head, and turned back to the boy.
Well at least he seems to like him. She thought, watching the boy from the corner of her eye as he ran his hand through Thunder's mane.
"Thunder."
"Doesn't look like a storm" the boy said, glancing up at the sky. She tossed the brush at him.
"No idiot, the horse's name is Thunder." She said. He laughed again.
"Forgive me, my lady. Thunder, will you forgive me?" He asked, looking at the horse sincerely. Thunder gave him a whinny, stomping his hooves and shoving his muzzle into the boy's face. "It appears he has, can you?" He asked. She was silent.
"Well, since you clearly want to be alone." He said, walking out of the stall and moving through the stable towards the end. She sighed, frustrated, and hung Thunder's brush up, following him down.
"Sorry. I'm just in a sour mood lately."
"My apologies my lady.. Perhaps the feast tonight will put you in a better mood. You are going, aren't you?" He asked expectantly.
"I am. That's part of the problem." She paused, as the boy reached the end of the stable, unlocking the gate and entering the stall. She couldn't see his horse, and the wooden wall blocked him from her view, as she followed him. "Will you be attending?" She asked, turning the corner. She gasped in surprise, staring at the huge beast the boy was stroking, running his fingers through the animal's fur. It was a huge, grey, direwolf.
"I should be," he laughed again, flashing her a bright white smile "I'm the one throwing it".
