( Three months — not very long. Three months is not long enough for word to get back to him about Sansa Stark disappearing, considering how much time he spent hiding in the fucking woods like a craven with her little sister. How infrequently they got news, how infrequently they showed their faces in public, and certainly not to the kinds of folk who would have any reliable account of the comings and goings of nobility.
The sky is different here; he feels it again, just like he felt it earlier with that brown-haired girl. A creeping dread, the ominous sense of something fundamentally wrong. Of threat, and danger. Of ice, and of fire. Something lives here and plays with them, and the sky is wrong.
He does not like this place. This place does not feel safe. Not for him, and certainly not for her. He casts his eyes about the crowded hall, at the faces of the men, full of soldiers — some who seem decent enough, others with a look in their faces that he recognizes because he's worn it himself. At first glance, he doesn't trust some of these fuckers as far as he could throw them.
She's been here without her brothers, unattended, with no guard.
He drags his eyes back to her again. )
Where the fuck else would I go?
( Plenty of other places, realistically. He could fuck off entirely, find one of those unattended cabins. Navigate for himself, once his leg's healed up enough and he's got the necessary clothes to handle the harsh bite outside. He could. Mayhaps he will.
no subject
The sky is different here; he feels it again, just like he felt it earlier with that brown-haired girl. A creeping dread, the ominous sense of something fundamentally wrong. Of threat, and danger. Of ice, and of fire. Something lives here and plays with them, and the sky is wrong.
He does not like this place. This place does not feel safe. Not for him, and certainly not for her. He casts his eyes about the crowded hall, at the faces of the men, full of soldiers — some who seem decent enough, others with a look in their faces that he recognizes because he's worn it himself. At first glance, he doesn't trust some of these fuckers as far as he could throw them.
She's been here without her brothers, unattended, with no guard.
He drags his eyes back to her again. )
Where the fuck else would I go?
( Plenty of other places, realistically. He could fuck off entirely, find one of those unattended cabins. Navigate for himself, once his leg's healed up enough and he's got the necessary clothes to handle the harsh bite outside. He could. Mayhaps he will.
Or mayhaps not.
He raises his cup and flatly adds: )
All the drink is here.