[ He hears her before he sees her. Too light of steps to be any guard roaming on duty. He thinks at first a servant, maybe. One who might keep word to themselves or spread it around. Like rats, they'll travel and maybe then his hours will be numbered. It does nothing to change his demeanor, staking his presence in the room that cannot be moved any easier than it would for them to drag that skull even an inch off its pedestal.
When she steps into view he realizes he was wrong. Pleasantly or unpleasantly, at this point he is still not certain. He hadn't expected to see her again tonight. His boots shift under the grit in their silence. His knees are drawn high enough so that his arms can rest on them, the bottle of wine he'd plucked held in his lap between his legs. Picking off bits and pieces of the wax cap that have turned into a small pile of shavings on the floor.
In the silence he mirrors a smile to hers. Both tired and defeated, only his twists into something more embittered once he looks away. Down at the bottle in his hands be raises it to drink from. It refreshes the warmth in his veins. As the cold of the night sinks in, he clearly hadn't gone anywhere else since leaving the great hall. Only having unfastened the top portion of his leather surcoat so that his neck may breathe. ]
All considering, not the worst wedding in more recent history. I still think that one goes to Alys Oakheart. [ He's the first to break the silence, his head lulling back against the stone as he looks at her. Far less violence and treachery. So it's not the worst, but certainly not the best. Leagues far from what'd either of them wanted by the way she looks at him now. But these are circumstances that are now out of both of their hands. ]
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When she steps into view he realizes he was wrong. Pleasantly or unpleasantly, at this point he is still not certain. He hadn't expected to see her again tonight. His boots shift under the grit in their silence. His knees are drawn high enough so that his arms can rest on them, the bottle of wine he'd plucked held in his lap between his legs. Picking off bits and pieces of the wax cap that have turned into a small pile of shavings on the floor.
In the silence he mirrors a smile to hers. Both tired and defeated, only his twists into something more embittered once he looks away. Down at the bottle in his hands be raises it to drink from. It refreshes the warmth in his veins. As the cold of the night sinks in, he clearly hadn't gone anywhere else since leaving the great hall. Only having unfastened the top portion of his leather surcoat so that his neck may breathe. ]
All considering, not the worst wedding in more recent history. I still think that one goes to Alys Oakheart. [ He's the first to break the silence, his head lulling back against the stone as he looks at her. Far less violence and treachery. So it's not the worst, but certainly not the best. Leagues far from what'd either of them wanted by the way she looks at him now. But these are circumstances that are now out of both of their hands. ]