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colin.
⠀ ⠀
THE STONES WERE RED AS PALE RUBY. The sky had turned a meek grey: clouds dwindled, and rain loomed not all too far. Yet, Colin could imagine the Keep in the sun's golden glow, casting warmth like a cloth across the courtyard. He could imagine the deep colour of the walls, the life the sun would seep into the already wine-tinted brick, turning it the shade of spilled blood.
The Red Keep was more elegant than Dragonstone: less severe, less daunting – but it was made by Targaryens all the same, and it reeked of power.
"Smaller than I remember," said Lucerys, descending the serpentine steps. He was more timid than his brother, and yet he walked the grounds with a familiarity Colin was quite certain he would never achieve himself.
Both Princes wore a muted blue, a cape swung over their shoulders. Colin, instead, was bathed in blacks and greys: he did not dare wear greens, not with the years it had been since he last saw his family, but he did not dare near reds or blues either. His cape was one with no crest. Jace frowned. "It looks exactly the same," he noted, looking over the courtyard. Below, fighters danced with steel and iron.
A smile tugged at the corner of Colin's mouth. "I would comment on that, but..." He gestured vaguely around him. I've never been here before, hung in the air.
"Well," shrugged Jace, "first time for everything."
"Wow," Colin deadpanned. "What regal wisdom."
At that, Jace chuckled. Colin heard it clear as day, even as the Prince skipped the last few steps and put distance between them. "Come on," Jace encouraged, though Colin and Luke were not so quick to follow.
The sunken courtyard was nothing like the training rooms at Dragonstone: here, the place buzzed with life, the regular clangs and shings of steel clashing steel filled the air and echoed off the pale red walls. Colin had never seen so many people training simultaneously: blade in hand, or lance, or bow. Some of the sounds raised the hairs on the back of his neck, but he shrugged himself and moved onto the next best thing before it could get the chance to grow into fear.
That was Colin, these days: never hesitate, never falter, never stop long enough to think too much. He did not have the chance to be afraid, because he did not allow himself to process.
"See?" called Jace. He ran his fingers down a heavy crack in one of the walls, looked towards his younger brother with a smile so wide Colin could feel it seep into his own expression. "I told you this would still be here. And you thought you could swing Criston's morningstar. Almost took your own head off!"
