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"My honor is my life, both grow in one; Take honor from me and my life is done."
William Shakespeare
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The echo of the steps was heard in the halls of the Tower of the Hand as if it were the low rhythm of a distant and forgotten melody. Three figures walked solemnly but with austere and quiet bearing, the fierceness of the North was engraved on their faces. The man who was marching in front from the others two, kept his expression in a deathly neutrality. His broad and strong complexion was covered in leather clothes and a long fur cloak was placed in his shoulders with some elegance, worthy of a high lord from the North. His shaved hair on the sides and tattoos replacing the void of hair, with only a few braids on the crown falling into a long ponytail was the mark to recognize him. Lord Ragnar Lothbrok of Skagos Island.
Many whispers about him were carried to other places, about his island; as well of his leadership. The southerners said, the Skagosi were more wilder than the North itself and the northerners maintained a respect for the loyal Lothbrok House. The rumors about their ferocity and a suppose cannibalism, were only night tales to children; so they can behave and the experienced warrior only say something sarcastic and made fun of them. He know his home, Ragnar drink and blessed the old gods and didn't mind what some dickheads of southerners, who ate in their gold dishes; could say about him and his people. His eyes, like the blue ocean, watched warily his surroundings. He really hate the south, especially the Capital.
"Ragnar, are you sure the old goat of Twyn will accept the deal ?" Floki questioned, full of incredulity. The northern man wanting to scare those of the Citadel, placed black paint around his eyes to give a more wild aura to his appearance; even though his wife asked him to no scare the poor people of the south.
"It's true, Ragnar. If Lord Stark's daughters don't return, this will tip the scale further. The Young Wolf has almost gathered half of the houses in the north." Torstein seconded the motion, watching cautiously.
"Even I manage to bring the girls to North, war is already at the door. The psychotic twat that will call king, started it when he decapitated Ned." Anger invaded him when he remembered reading about his friend's sentence and death, delivered by one of Varys birds. Ragnar's gaze looked emptyly at the hall in front of him. His thoughts were placed in the last conversation with the man he considered his brother, friend and sword partner.
The evening breeze caressed the silk curtains of the room located in the tower of the king's hand. Two figures seemed to reflect on the silence until Ned Stark who was standing, looked at his companion and old friend; who made a grumpy sound.
