Brom gazed out the window, watching the sunset over the walls of the castle; he wished vainly that he had been born first. "If the old laws were used in the South, I would fight both of you for her." He looked at his older brother. Brogan's discomfort from the throne room had finally faded with Lorgan's jest, Grey watched his brothers with a thin-lipped stare and then left, muttering something about debauched swine.

"I prefer the sword." Prince Brogan took the weapon from its sheath, and held it out for his drunken adviser. "Do you want to hold her? [i]Nightsbane.[/i] I've never seen tinted steel before." It was obvious the novelty of his sword had not yet worn off. If there was one thing his brother loved, it was fighting. He seemed rather pleased with his gift. Brom sighed, and straightened himself from the sill, and stepped over an empty wine vessel to his chest of clothing. 

"Aren't you going to change clothes for the feast?" The younger prince disrobed of his furs and laid them out on the bed before dressing himself in a fresh shirt and leather vest. "You have to look your best. This isn't the North, we have an image to maintain. You aren't going to be liked if everyone thinks of you as a bloodthirsty Northern animal, Brogan." Brom turned his attention back to the drunken family friend. "Lorgan..." The boy folded his arms across his chest. "Everyone already knows you as a bloodthirsty Northern animal. Just... Try not to kill anyone while you're in the castle this time."

Brogan rose from the table and shook his head. "Only ladies change their clothes that much, Brom. I'm the son of Little Bear the Kingbreaker; I'll wear what I please and scare whom I want."