Brandon woke slowly, enjoying the feel of sunlight on his form as the morning light bathed him in warmth. It was a good feeling, almost like a warm bath. After a time, the large man finally rose. He dressed himself quickly, strapping his blade to his back. Though he expected no enemies it was still a comfort to has greatsword with him.
Today was the day of the tourney, the day to prove the storm has come to King's Landing. He could already feel it brewing in his bones, swirling through his being. It felt good, as it always had. The thought of letting it go unrestrained filled him with excitement. With the timely interruption of his stomach, like a roaring dragon bellowing, he knew that before any fighting he would need food.
So Brandon descended the stairs into the common room where there was a very fine assortment of foods, as well as Reed Stark, Tiras Rivers, Iris Flowers, and her bodyguard. An interesting assortment. He recalled their breakfast with the Starks a few days prior. It was nice to catch up with them, to feel the old flame of friendship burn bright once more. That would be something he'd make an effort to keep.
Brandon sat himself at the head of the table, looking around to notice no one had started eating anything. "What are we waiting for? The food to spoil? Come, let us enjoy our share while it is still warm."
Willam was in a narrow hallway, the darkness clinging to him with every step. He was running, running from what, he did not know. All he knew was the fear screaming in his mind of what would happen if he was caught. The sight of Talea's broken form flashed through his mind as he could hear it come closer behind him. He always was the fastest runner he knew, but would that be enough? He could already feels himself grow tired, his short raspy breaths, the pounding in his ears, and his iron limbs dragging him down. No, he wouldn't keep this up for long. Finally he rounded a corner and into one of many side rooms. He stilled his breath to listen for it, but could hear nothing. Slouched against the wall he rested for a time. Finally he mustered his courage and gingerly walked toward the door. "You're mine."
He heard the rasping voice behind him, it's sound brought dread and fear. A freezing ache to the bone that he could not shake. At that sound he froze, for he knew it was over. He felt a flash of searing pain as a shiny blade emerged from his chest. The pain was brief thankfully, as a deep cold took over, starting from his limbs it crept inward toward his heart. He heard a sharp gasp as the ground rushed towards him. "Fear me..."
Willam woke with a start, gasping for breath. His hand darted to his chest, feeling where the blade had been. His hair stuck to his face, damp with sweat. His eyes wildly took in the room before finally settling to look on a wooden charm on the end of a leather cord, sitting on his nightstand. The charm was in the shape of a shield with a lion on it. Willam took it in hand, feeling the rough wood beneath his fingers. He knew there two of them, in fact he was the one who carved them. It's twin was with his baby sister, he'd given it to her and told her that as long as they had the charms they'd never truly be apart.
Funny, he told that to her to give her comfort. Yet here he was on the other end of the continent taking solace in it. He slipped it on and rose, dismissing his dream. Was it prophetic? Perhaps, perhaps not. More likely it was his mind warning him of the dangers of the capitol.
Willam dressed slowly, picking his attire with much care. A red and gold doublet, red breeches with fine knee-high leather boots. He wore a pin that bore the golden lion of his house. His decorative sword belt bore a different sword from the other day. This day he wanted function, not decoration. If that nightmare served any useful purpose, it was that Willam was now very cautious.
On his hip he bore a valyrian steel longsword forged from the great blade Ice. It had originally been named Widow's Wail, but that name, along with the overly gaudy hilt, were both destroyed. The new hilt was simple, engraved brown leather with a worn gold lion head adorning the pommel. Stamped on the blade are the words 'Courage and honor above all.'
Willam took the words as a personal reminder, and these words served as a testament to the blade's new name, Lionheart
. It's brown leather scabbard was decorated with a few engravings and the Lannister Lion towards the bottom. He drew the blade a bit, admiring the wave pattern of the steel. Finally he let it slide home, steeling himself for the day ahead.
Willam descended the stairs, hand resting on his sword. In the common room he found Reed Stark, Tiras Rivers, Brandon Baratheon, Iris Flowers, and her bodyguard. It pleased him to see his fellow wards seemingly getting on well. Maybe the dream of peace wasn't so far off after all? He seated himself on the arm of a chair. "Good morning lords, lady. I trust you all slept well?"