"𝑊𝑜𝑙𝑓'𝑠 𝐵𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑑," their father always called it. Could make a man or woman wild in a sense, unpredictable, and powerful. And when a violet-eyed twin born to the Lord Eddard Stark, all knew that the boy would have it. And he did.
Beside his...
Lord Walder only chuckled as Roose Bolton sighed once more, his eyes not leaving that stain.
"It must have been torture following that stupid boy all over the country."
"His brother was easier to follow. The Young Wolf might have won a few battles, but he never would have been able to do it if the Violet Wolf didn't start the momentum at the Whistling Wood."
"All of the North's success against the Lannisters relying on one Stark boy who's more Dayne than wolf."
The new Lord of Riverrun remarked with a chuckle, shaking his head as he sippes his wine again before continuing.
"We're gambling men, Bolton. All those highborn Lords liked to snicker at me. Ned Stark, Hoster Tully, Rhaegar Targaryen, Benget Stark, all the fools. They misplaced their bets, and the Lannisters paid their debts."
He must have thought hr was quite the poet to make such a comment. A joke that he must've thought was the funniest one ever told in the Realm as his old, crackled laugh rung out in the hall of bloodstains. But Roose Bolton did not laugh, he did not smile. He did not pry his eyes from the stain of blood from the spot of floor before him.
Walder Frey's laughs began to quiet down, turning to chuckles but the arrogant amuesment was still there on his lips as he raised his goblet into the air.
"To Wolves of Winterfell!"
The Warden of the North only gave the Lord of Riverrun a side glance before once again settling his sight on the crimson blood that no matter how hard the girl scrubbed, the red seemed to be pushed further into the floor.
"As you say.."
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『𝑻𝒚𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝑳𝒂𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓』
The Imp walked along to the Council Chamber, entering to see all in attendance. Curious how Littlefinger was not there, but he didn't pay much mind. Varys, Pycelle, all to be expected. Cersei, Tywin, the usual. But what he didn't expect was Joffrey pacing the room slowly, his eyes finding him as Tyrion could see almost pure madness and grinning glee in said violent eyes.
"Mm, killed a few puppies today, Your Grace?"
Tyrion mocked with a smirk of his own as he came to the table, pulling the chair out to seat himself. He eyed Joffrey suspiciously as the boy-king pointed at Pycelle with a grin.
"Show him."
Glancing to his left, Grand Maester Pycelle held out a raven letters in his wrinkly old hand. But as Tyrion reached out to take it, Pycelle dropped it on the floor like a punk ass.
