Grey the Stolen listened in horror as Lorgan Ogreson crooned about the Southern tragedy and the rape of his mother. He could feel the color drain from his face in cold anger, and his blood bubbled with hatred. It was not the first time he had heard this tune; it was a popular song among soldiers of the Hinterlands--sung largely in the feasting longhouses during nights of celebration--but he had always despised it. He found nothing celebratory about the crippling of a noble and just king, nor the circumstances which led his mother to become an invalid. On the contrary, Grey thought the lyrics to show a disturbing lack of empathy toward the suffering of the South, and he loathed the Hinterland bodyguard for such a display of tactlessness and cruelty. 

With hands that shook from restrained rage, he carefully placed servings of his mother's favorite dishes onto a spare plate. He knew which foods she loved most: honeyed ham, pickled peaches with spiced cream, shredded vegetable salad with vinaigrette, fried sweetbread, and scalloped potatoes--careful so that the items did not touch. 

Grey tried not to leer at Ogreson and his traitorous wench. There was no need for him to punish them outright; Lorgan had proven himself to the Southern nobles to be as crude, stupid, and belligerent as it was rumored all northmen were. He had confirmed their distrust and resentment of him, and it would likely transfer to all visitors from the Hinterlands--especially those whom the hulking lout advised.

The Stolen picked up his own platter of food in one hand and his mother's in the other. He leaned over to Ruarc Hinn, as to speak unheard by eavesdroppers. "Cousin, can you believe Brogan finds the advice of such a barbaric man so invaluable as to bring him here?" Grey's lips were drawn thin, and his expression unreadable yet gaunt. "I can't endure him. I'm going to eat with Mother."

The lost son of the Kingbreaker made a quiet exit, slipping through the door left open by Lorgan. He made his way up the tower to visit Boralle, knocking before entering. There was no reply. "I have brought you food from the feast, Mother. Your favorites." He sat the plate down on the bedside table beside the now empty goblet of wine. Grey the Stolen poured her a fresh glass. "It is so much nicer up here with you... The hall is full of boisterous fools. Not like us..." He smiled and touched his mother's forearm. For the first time today, she looked at him. "We'll be rid of them soon. I promise."