edrickofwinterfell

[edrickofwinterfell]

Edrick let out a slow, measured breath, trying to temper the irritation that always simmered just beneath his skin. It wasn’t Cregan’s fault that he was sick, nor was it his fault that Edrick had spent more days in this room than out of it. And yet, the sight of his brother—tall, broad, unshaken as ever—was enough to send a bitter taste crawling up his throat.

It had taken Cregan long enough to come. Long enough that Edrick had convinced himself he wouldn’t.

"Have I been eating?" He repeated, his voice dry as the wind blowing outside. "What do you think, Cregan? Between the fever and the endless supply of broth and soup that tastes like warmed-up ditch water, I’m practically feasting." He tilted his head slightly, watching his brother with sharp, knowing eyes.

His fingers twitched where they rested on the thin furs. He thought, briefly, about reaching for the carving in Cregan’s hands. Thought about holding it again, like he had when he was a small boy.

His brother always had a way of avoiding confrontation, as if pretending it didn’t exist would make everything better. He reached for the goblet instead, but his hand trembled as he lifted it. He stilled, pride keeping him from letting Cregan see the weakness in his fingers. He let the goblet rest against his chest, as if it had been his intention all along.

Silence stretched between them, thick as the northern snowdrifts. Edrick turned his head toward the window, following Cregan’s gaze. The sky outside was an endless gray, the wind still howling against the stone walls. “You don’t have to sit there looking like a scolded hound,” he muttered, though the sharpness had dulled. “It doesn’t suit you and I don't need your damn pity.”

Let the damn man play nursemaid if he so wished, but it wasn’t as if Edrick wanted to be babied by him.

Comforting Memories In Winter

starter with @edrickofwinterfell

"Thank you," Cregan nodded his head politely towards the maid who he had ordered to bring him reports of his brother's ailment. Even as he ruled over Winterfell; his family was just as important. Cregan had always known that; even from a young age.

The loss of his parents is still heavily influencing him even now, which is why he kept most at a distance. Still, it had took Cregan longer than he would ever admit to finally come to his brother's chambers.

As ever, Cregan did not knock. It was a habit that many would argue was not a good one. "Brother," the Lord of Winterfell whispered out as the candles flickered in the dimly lit room. The cold breeze making its presence known as the wind howled like the sigil of their house.

He fought the urge not to be reminded of his first wife; his steps nearly faltering. Alas, he was a grown man and had been for a while now. The heavy boots of his echoed in the chambers as he stepped further.

[edrickofwinterfell]

Blooming Friendship

starter with @abby-the-writer

To him it seemed that the library at Riverrun was not as comfortable as the one at home in Winterfell. The air smelled of old parchment and mist. But it was quiet, and the dim candlelight suited Edrick just fine. He had no love for noise nor for the company of fools, and as far as he could tell, most of the Riverlands were full of them. Benjen had made certain to remind him of that before leaving him all alone.

“Stay out of trouble, don’t go looking for fights, and for the love of the gods, don’t bother Lady Abigail or Oscar.”

Which, of course, was exactly why he found himself here now.

Benjen’s warning had sparked something sharp in his chest—an instinct that made him dig his heels in just to be contrary. If he was not to talk to her, then he would. And if he was not to befriend her, then by the end of the night, he would make her his dearest companion.

The Tully girl, soft-voiced and skittish, a poet or something of the sort, he recognised her with ease as she looked quite like her brother Kermit, she was seated near the hearth, a book open in her lap and a small, dog curled at her side. A corgi, he realized, the sight of it nearly made him smile.

"Lady Abigail," he said smoothly, stepping from the shadows, his hands tucked neatly behind his back.

She jumped at the sound of his voice, clutching at the dog as though he might snatch it from her.

Edrick tilted his head. "You’re jumpy. Do you fear ghosts, or have you done something worth fearing?"

He waved a hand dismissively, stepping closer. "Don’t bother with courtesies. I’m not here to preen like some southerner." He tilted his head, eyeing her book. "What are you reading?"

"Hm." He crossed his arms, studying her. "Words are just dressed-up numbers. Patterns, structures. Different rules, but the same game."

She blinked at him.

He smirked. "Never mind. You wouldn’t like my books. All numbers and logic, no flowery nonsense." He gestured at the chair opposite hers. "Mind if I sit?"

He dropped into the seat without ceremony, exhaling. "I don’t care much for poetry," he admitted, "but I don’t mind poets."

A strange way to introduce himself, perhaps. But he supposed that was the best she would get.

[edrickofwinterfell]

Edrick’s voice cut through the chamber, sharp and indignant. “I said extra blankets, you daft woman! Does this look like extra blankets to you?” His pale hand shot out from beneath the furs, gesturing angrily at the modest pile the maid had managed to scrounge together. His fever-bright eyes glared at her, though there was no real malice in them—just the impatience of a young man who had been sick his entire life and had long since abandoned the pleasantries of suffering in silence.

The poor girl stammered out an apology, clutching at her skirts as she hesitated by the bedside. Edrick groaned, shifting uncomfortably, his body aching from too many days confined to the same damn mattress. He knew he was being unreasonable, but the frustration bubbling inside him needed somewhere to go. And if he couldn't hurl his misery at the gods who had cursed him with this wretched body, then a maid with weak nerves would have to do.

“Go,” he snapped, waving a dismissive hand. “Or better yet, freeze out in the yard for an hour so you understand why I need the damn blankets– and tell someone to get me some broth and I swear if you bring a cold bowl.” The maid practically fled, and Edrick let out a ragged breath, pressing the heel of his palm against his burning forehead.

Then he heard the boots. Heavy, deliberate. His lips curled into a sneer before he even turned his head. “Ah. So you do remember your baby brother,” he drawled, voice hoarse but laced with sharpness. “I was beginning to think you'd only come to pay your respects when I was a corpse.”

Comforting Memories In Winter

starter with @edrickofwinterfell

"Thank you," Cregan nodded his head politely towards the maid who he had ordered to bring him reports of his brother's ailment. Even as he ruled over Winterfell; his family was just as important. Cregan had always known that; even from a young age.

The loss of his parents is still heavily influencing him even now, which is why he kept most at a distance. Still, it had took Cregan longer than he would ever admit to finally come to his brother's chambers.

As ever, Cregan did not knock. It was a habit that many would argue was not a good one. "Brother," the Lord of Winterfell whispered out as the candles flickered in the dimly lit room. The cold breeze making its presence known as the wind howled like the sigil of their house.

He fought the urge not to be reminded of his first wife; his steps nearly faltering. Alas, he was a grown man and had been for a while now. The heavy boots of his echoed in the chambers as he stepped further.

[edrickofwinterfell]

Edrick stared at the arrow, its shaft still trembling slightly where it had lodged dead center in the target. He hadn’t actually expected her to hit it—not yet, at least. His teasing had been meant to push her, to needle that sharp Targaryen temper of hers until she either proved him wrong or gave up entirely.

But she hadn’t given up. And now, here she was, beaming like she’d just conquered the North itself.

Edrick exhaled, crossing his arms as he looked at her. He wanted to roll his eyes, to throw some sharp remark about how it had only taken her all afternoon to land one decent shot, but the words didn’t quite come.

He let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “Somehow, I doubt you had permission,” he said dryly. "Though I can’t say I’m surprised.” He studied her for a long moment, his smirk fading into something more thoughtful. “Reckless, stubborn, and temperamental… Gods help Cregan.”

Edrick sighed, shaking his head as he looked back at the target. “Well, princess,” he said, pushing off the post, “at least if you’re going to be part of this family, you won’t be entirely useless with a bow.”

A pause, then, in a lower voice, as he glanced at her once more. “Welcome to the North, sister, I'm the reckless one too and I suppose you're not entirely unbearable.”

starter for @edrickofwinterfell

the weather was brighter than other days, as the princess went towards to the training grounds. the snow was cleaned off the grown, to create a clean pathway.

The princess had her arrow on her back as she wanted to practice what was taught by her husband. She unlatched it on from her back belt… as she started to set it up.

She knew how hard the arrow was… she had her leather gloves on as she started to look at the target.

She had to relax, calm her head down. The princess knew how much she had a temper, a targaryen temper. But this was something she had to work on especially when she shot an arrow.

Rhaenya was focusing on her arrow needing to shoot it at the target. the Princess had focused on the target her eyes trying her best to shoot it.

Her hands shook as she pulled back on the bow but her hands shook. The arrow came down as she lost balance as she sighed.

She wanted to throw the arrow break it snap it. This was frustrating as she looked at the at the target. She tried her again… but her hands were unstable and unsteady once more.

Which made her lose her balance. But she didn’t expect a small audience to be watching her. She turned to look back as she gave up on her bow and arrow… and saw Edrick… Cregan’s younger brother watching her.

[edrickofwinterfell]

Edrick did not move as Jenny swept in like a particularly determined storm, her hands quick and deft. Instead, he took a leisurely sip of his tea, watching Benjen’s slow descent into despair with the detached amusement of a man witnessing a tragedy he had absolutely no intention of stopping, Well his not-brother shouldn't have bought up ridiculous ideas like him falling for a women, Ha him.

Benjen, to his credit, held himself together remarkably well, considering the situation. He merely sighed—long, heavy, utterly defeated—and rubbed a hand over his face as if he could scrub the exhaustion from his very bones. Jenny was already fussing, motherly and righteous, the way only women who had never personally endured true suffering could be.

And oh, how Benjen suffered.

Edrick smirked, shifting slightly in his chair, letting the room settle around them like a stage play where only he and Kermit were aware of the script.

He tilted his head, watching the way Benjen’s shoulders tensed ever so slightly as Jenny poured what was surely a completely unnecessary amount of judgment into a single glance.

���Drinking in the middle of the day?” she chided, lips pursed. “Really, Ben, is that the kind of example you want to set?”

Edrick took another sip of tea, eyes twinkling.

“Well, in fairness, Lady Tully, he’s only drinking because Kermit forced him to break the hearts of every working girl in Riverrun,” he said smoothly, flicking a glance toward Kermit, who had the audacity to look only mildly abashed. “A noble sacrifice, truly. I think he deserves more sympathy.”

Jenny blinked, frowning. “What?”

“Oh, you don't know,” Edrick murmured, setting his cup down with a delicate clink. “It’s a riveting tale. There was wailing, wine, a bottle thrown at his head—tragedy, truly.” He glanced at Jenny, feigning deep concern. “I think they might compose songs about it. ‘The Mourning maids of Riverrun’ has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

Jenny looked at Benjen, who merely exhaled through his nose like a man who had lost the will to live. Then she turned back to Edrick, narrowing her eyes.

Jenny sighed, setting the brandy aside, much to Benjen’s visible despair and honestly Edrick would've preferred to take a couple of swings more since Cregan never let him drink a lot. “Regardless, you shouldn’t be drinking so much.”

Edrick’s lips twitched.

“Oh, but Lady Jenny,” he drawled, tilting his head, watching the way Benjen refused to look directly at her, “he only drinks like this when he’s suffering. Have some pity.” He placed a delicate pause, then added, in the smoothest, most innocent tone he could muster, “Perhaps you could comfort him?”

Benjen choked.

Jenny, unaware of the significance, merely patted his arm in what she clearly thought was a reassuring gesture. “You poor man,” she sighed, completely missing the way Benjen was now visibly debating between fleeing the room or strangling Edrick on the spot.

Edrick just smiled, sipping his tea, perfectly content, hopefully Kermit doesn't banish them both yet, he hadn't even met the man's siblings yet!

Ah. Life was good.

🂱 NO GOOD DEED GOES UNPUNISHED 🂱

(A thread with @edrickofwinterfell and @lord-kermit-of-riverrun)

Benjen had survived battles, blizzards, and the occasional drunk archer mistaking him for a particularly well-dressed bear, but nothing had prepared him for the gauntlet of grief-stricken prostitutes awaiting him in Riverrun’s brothels.

Fifteen establishments. Fifteen rounds of their most expensive wine. An army of women wailing as though he had arrived bearing Kermit’s severed head rather than his apologies.

Benjen had done his best. He really had. He delivered the message with all the solemnity of a man announcing a noble lord’s passing: Lord Kermit Tully bids his fondest farewells, but he shall not be returning, for he has found true love and wishes to honor it—blah, blah, blah.

He had been groped, kissed, slapped, and, at one particularly low moment, cornered by three women who seemed genuinely determined to keep him as a replacement. He had extracted himself with all the grace of a man escaping a burning building, waving a pouch of gold like a torch to light his way out.

Benjen did not sleep with prostitutes. It was a rule. A principle. Mostly because the moment coin entered the equation, things got complicated, and Benjen preferred his complications to be of the ‘climbing out the window before her husband arrived’ variety.

His coat reeked of rose oil. There was lipstick on his collar. His patience had died two brothels in.

By the fifteenth establishment, he could barely muster the energy to deliver the same speech he’d repeated all night: Kermit is in love. No, I don’t know why. Yes, I am certain. No, he’s not coming back. Yes, you can take it up with the gods if you think they’ll listen. No, I’m not interested in softening the blow personally.

His greatest mistake had been lingering long enough for the women to cycle through the five stages of grief. The bargaining was particularly exhausting. He had been offered free wine, free rooms, free companionship, and, in one case, what he could only assume was an illegal amount of opium—all in exchange for convincing Kermit to change his mind or, failing that, staying the night himself.

By the time he reached the Tully estate, he felt like a man returning from battle. Victorious, perhaps, but utterly ruined. He shoved the door open with the force of someone who had been personally wronged by it, stomping in like vengeance incarnate.

Kermit was waiting, practically vibrating with anticipation. Benjen didn’t even pause. He yanked off his coat, tossed it onto the nearest chair, and held up one finger, silencing any words before they could leave his friend’s mouth.

“No,” he said, his voice hoarse from overuse. “Not a single word. Not one syllable. Don’t even breathe in my direction until I’ve had several drinks.”

He collapsed into a chair, rubbing his temples as though he could physically press the memories from his skull.

“The whores?” he continued, eyes still closed. “Devastated. I watched a woman knock over an entire table in grief. Another bit a handkerchief like a widow at a funeral. I was grabbed, Kermit. Clawed at. Pinned against a wall at least twice. I had to pay for two bottles at the Silk Kiss because someone threw the first one at my head.” He cracked an eye open, leveling a glare at Kermit. “Do you understand what you’ve done? You’ve single-handedly destabilized the local economy. I expect an award from the merchants' guild for my efforts.”

He exhaled sharply and, finally, let himself slump against the back of the chair. His limbs felt like lead. His soul had withered. But at least it was over.

And then he saw him.

Edrick. Sitting there. Drinking tea, of all things, swathed in a cloak like some unholy specter of mischief.

Benjen narrowed his eyes, slowly straightening. He studied the boy for a long moment, then arched a single brow. That was his ‘going out’ cloak. His ‘I want to mingle with the common folk’ cloak. The same cloak Benjen was contemplating strangling him with right now.

“Did you follow me?”

[edrickofwinterfell]

Edrick exhaled through his nose, shifting his stance. “Nothing about it,” he replied, his tone more even than before. “Just curious.”

He ran a hand through his dark hair, his smirk dimming into something more thoughtful. “Lyarra and i have always been close. I suppose it’s just strange for me to meet another twin who doesn’t seem particularly eager to talk about theirs.”

"She and I..." He exhaled, glancing toward the distant towers of Winterfell before looking back at her. "We're different. Always have been. She’s softer than me, kinder. But that doesn’t mean she’s weak." His voice turned just a touch sharper, a warning beneath the words.

His smirk returned, softer this time. "So tell me, princess… are you the sensible twin, or the reckless one?"

For a moment, there was silence. Just the crisp air between them, the sound of her breathing, the faint creak of the bowstring as she pulled back.

"Steady…"

And then, she released.

The arrow flew—landing just shy of the center.

Edrick let out a low whistle. "Hells," he muttered. "Maybe I should mock you more often if it gets you to shoot straight."

starter for @edrickofwinterfell

the weather was brighter than other days, as the princess went towards to the training grounds. the snow was cleaned off the grown, to create a clean pathway.

The princess had her arrow on her back as she wanted to practice what was taught by her husband. She unlatched it on from her back belt… as she started to set it up.

She knew how hard the arrow was… she had her leather gloves on as she started to look at the target.

She had to relax, calm her head down. The princess knew how much she had a temper, a targaryen temper. But this was something she had to work on especially when she shot an arrow.

Rhaenya was focusing on her arrow needing to shoot it at the target. the Princess had focused on the target her eyes trying her best to shoot it.

Her hands shook as she pulled back on the bow but her hands shook. The arrow came down as she lost balance as she sighed.

She wanted to throw the arrow break it snap it. This was frustrating as she looked at the at the target. She tried her again… but her hands were unstable and unsteady once more.

Which made her lose her balance. But she didn’t expect a small audience to be watching her. She turned to look back as she gave up on her bow and arrow… and saw Edrick… Cregan’s younger brother watching her.

[edrickofwinterfell]

Edrick watched as the arrow flew through the cold air, its path straighter than before, though still far from perfect. He let out a low hum, tilting his head slightly as he observed her. “Not bad,” he mused. “Still wouldn’t trust you to hit anything that wasn’t standing perfectly still, but progress is progress.”

He leaned against the wooden post beside him, arms crossed over his chest as he studied the princess with a mixture of amusement and—something more thoughtful. It was strange, watching her like this. Rhaenya was no different than the other dragons that nested in the capital, she was prideful, impatient, and entirely too stubborn for her own good.

“Do you always talk to yourself when you’re annoyed?” he asked, raising a brow at her muttering. “Or is that just a Targaryen thing?”

And yet, something about her frustration, the way she bit down on it rather than let it consume her, felt… familiar.

Still, he couldn’t resist the jab. “If you’d like, I could fetch Lyarra. My sister has no taste for combat, but I wager even she could outshoot you.”

Rhaenya shot him a glare that could’ve melted Winterfell’s snow. Edrick only grinned.

It wasn’t a lie, though. Lyarra had always been the opposite of him.

“Aren't you a twin too?”

starter for @edrickofwinterfell

the weather was brighter than other days, as the princess went towards to the training grounds. the snow was cleaned off the grown, to create a clean pathway.

The princess had her arrow on her back as she wanted to practice what was taught by her husband. She unlatched it on from her back belt… as she started to set it up.

She knew how hard the arrow was… she had her leather gloves on as she started to look at the target.

She had to relax, calm her head down. The princess knew how much she had a temper, a targaryen temper. But this was something she had to work on especially when she shot an arrow.

Rhaenya was focusing on her arrow needing to shoot it at the target. the Princess had focused on the target her eyes trying her best to shoot it.

Her hands shook as she pulled back on the bow but her hands shook. The arrow came down as she lost balance as she sighed.

She wanted to throw the arrow break it snap it. This was frustrating as she looked at the at the target. She tried her again… but her hands were unstable and unsteady once more.

Which made her lose her balance. But she didn’t expect a small audience to be watching her. She turned to look back as she gave up on her bow and arrow… and saw Edrick… Cregan’s younger brother watching her.

[edrickofwinterfell]

Edrick blinked slowly, tilting his head like a particularly unimpressed owl. Or maybe a very wise owl. He felt wise. Unbothered. Smooth, even.

“Follow you?” he repeated, dragging the words out, as though he needed to taste them first before committing. Then he shook his head, taking another sip of his tea—lukewarm now, a tragedy. “No. Not really. Not exactly.”

Instead, he sighed, rolling his head against the back of the chair to stare at the ceiling. “I began following you. And then I made the mistake of stepping into the first brothel you entered.”

He took another sip of tea grimacing. “I left immediately. Walked straight back out. I have never exited a building faster in my life. I almost tripped over my own feet.”

Edrick let the admission sit for a moment before lifting his head just enough to glance at Benjen again. His face was flushed from drink, his words slightly looser than usual, but his usual acerbic wit was softened into something almost fond.

Edrick sighed, tilting his head back against the chair. “I did follow you at first. But then I left. It was all a bit—” He waved a hand vaguely. “Too much. Loud. Sticky. Smelled like… I don’t know. Sex and perfume?” He squinted. “And, gods, the sounds—" He shuddered. "I had to go.”

Benjen made a sound—something between a snort and a grunt of agreement. It was a sound that said yes, welcome to my night of suffering.

“So I wandered. Got drunk and then had a bite to eat.” He tapped a thoughtful finger against his cup. “Something fried and spicy. Very spicy. And then something sweet. Like strawberries. But… wrong.” His brows furrowed. “I think it was lying about being a strawberry.”

Benjen’s expression did not shift from its resting state of deep skepticism.

He waved a lazy hand, as though dismissing the whole questionable food experience. “Then I met a dog. Very fat. Very round. Just sitting in the street like he owned the whole damn city. He barked at me once, then ignored me completely. I respect him more than anyone else in this entire place. Good fellow. Had one eye. Looked like he’d seen things. Shared some of my food with him. Almost kept him.” A pause. “Didn’t. Probably for the best. He seemed happier in the streets than I’ve ever seen a noble in a keep.”

Huh, that rhymed. Another sip of tea. He let it sit on his tongue for a moment this time. Very sweet. He swallowed it anyway.

He let out a breath and finally, finally looked at Benjen properly—coat stained, face drawn, absolutely marinated in what could only be the cloying scent of a hundred women’s misplaced affections.

Edrick smirked. “You look terrible.”

Then he poured himself another cup of tea and, after a moment of uncharacteristic consideration, poured one for Benjen and kermit too.

Edrick tilted his head. “Speaking of which…” He turned his attention to Kermit, all polite curiosity. “What is she like then? This lady of yours, worth more than every warm bed in Riverrun?”

🂱 NO GOOD DEED GOES UNPUNISHED 🂱

(A thread with @edrickofwinterfell and @lord-kermit-of-riverrun)

Benjen had survived battles, blizzards, and the occasional drunk archer mistaking him for a particularly well-dressed bear, but nothing had prepared him for the gauntlet of grief-stricken prostitutes awaiting him in Riverrun’s brothels.

Fifteen establishments. Fifteen rounds of their most expensive wine. An army of women wailing as though he had arrived bearing Kermit’s severed head rather than his apologies.

Benjen had done his best. He really had. He delivered the message with all the solemnity of a man announcing a noble lord’s passing: Lord Kermit Tully bids his fondest farewells, but he shall not be returning, for he has found true love and wishes to honor it—blah, blah, blah.

He had been groped, kissed, slapped, and, at one particularly low moment, cornered by three women who seemed genuinely determined to keep him as a replacement. He had extracted himself with all the grace of a man escaping a burning building, waving a pouch of gold like a torch to light his way out.

Benjen did not sleep with prostitutes. It was a rule. A principle. Mostly because the moment coin entered the equation, things got complicated, and Benjen preferred his complications to be of the ‘climbing out the window before her husband arrived’ variety.

His coat reeked of rose oil. There was lipstick on his collar. His patience had died two brothels in.

By the fifteenth establishment, he could barely muster the energy to deliver the same speech he’d repeated all night: Kermit is in love. No, I don’t know why. Yes, I am certain. No, he’s not coming back. Yes, you can take it up with the gods if you think they’ll listen. No, I’m not interested in softening the blow personally.

His greatest mistake had been lingering long enough for the women to cycle through the five stages of grief. The bargaining was particularly exhausting. He had been offered free wine, free rooms, free companionship, and, in one case, what he could only assume was an illegal amount of opium—all in exchange for convincing Kermit to change his mind or, failing that, staying the night himself.

By the time he reached the Tully estate, he felt like a man returning from battle. Victorious, perhaps, but utterly ruined. He shoved the door open with the force of someone who had been personally wronged by it, stomping in like vengeance incarnate.

Kermit was waiting, practically vibrating with anticipation. Benjen didn’t even pause. He yanked off his coat, tossed it onto the nearest chair, and held up one finger, silencing any words before they could leave his friend’s mouth.

“No,” he said, his voice hoarse from overuse. “Not a single word. Not one syllable. Don’t even breathe in my direction until I’ve had several drinks.”

He collapsed into a chair, rubbing his temples as though he could physically press the memories from his skull.

“The whores?” he continued, eyes still closed. “Devastated. I watched a woman knock over an entire table in grief. Another bit a handkerchief like a widow at a funeral. I was grabbed, Kermit. Clawed at. Pinned against a wall at least twice. I had to pay for two bottles at the Silk Kiss because someone threw the first one at my head.” He cracked an eye open, leveling a glare at Kermit. “Do you understand what you’ve done? You’ve single-handedly destabilized the local economy. I expect an award from the merchants' guild for my efforts.”

He exhaled sharply and, finally, let himself slump against the back of the chair. His limbs felt like lead. His soul had withered. But at least it was over.

And then he saw him.

Edrick. Sitting there. Drinking tea, of all things, swathed in a cloak like some unholy specter of mischief.

Benjen narrowed his eyes, slowly straightening. He studied the boy for a long moment, then arched a single brow. That was his ‘going out’ cloak. His ‘I want to mingle with the common folk’ cloak. The same cloak Benjen was contemplating strangling him with right now.

“Did you follow me?”

[edrickofwinterfell]

For a moment, he simply observed. It was easy to tease, easier still to poke at the pride of a Targaryen, but something about the way she bit back her frustration made him hesitate. She was stubborn. He had to give her that, besides he should be nicer to girls.

With a sigh, Edrick ran a hand through his dark hair, stepping up beside her. “Alright, that was... better,” he admitted, though a smirk still tugged at his lips. “But you’re thinking too much. You can’t force it.” He reached for her hands, hesitating before lightly adjusting her grip. “Here. You’re holding it too tight—like you’re trying to wrangle a wild horse. Archery requires immense strength in your arms of course but it’s also about control– not force.”

He glanced at her face, watching for any sign of irritation. “Breathe in when you pull back, and exhale as you release. Stop thinking about missing. Just feel it.”

Stepping back, he crossed his arms again, watching as she set up another shot. “And if you miss again,” he added, smirking slightly, “well… at least you’ll be the most determined archer in the North and I promise I'll only laugh on the inside.”

She hesitated, glancing at him as if expecting another snide remark. But for once, Edrick was quiet.

Rhaenya inhaled, steadied herself, and let the arrow fly. It didn’t hit the center, but it landed on the outer edge of the target.

Edrick nodded in approval. "Better," he admitted. "Still terrible, but better."

starter for @edrickofwinterfell

the weather was brighter than other days, as the princess went towards to the training grounds. the snow was cleaned off the grown, to create a clean pathway.

The princess had her arrow on her back as she wanted to practice what was taught by her husband. She unlatched it on from her back belt… as she started to set it up.

She knew how hard the arrow was… she had her leather gloves on as she started to look at the target.

She had to relax, calm her head down. The princess knew how much she had a temper, a targaryen temper. But this was something she had to work on especially when she shot an arrow.

Rhaenya was focusing on her arrow needing to shoot it at the target. the Princess had focused on the target her eyes trying her best to shoot it.

Her hands shook as she pulled back on the bow but her hands shook. The arrow came down as she lost balance as she sighed.

She wanted to throw the arrow break it snap it. This was frustrating as she looked at the at the target. She tried her again… but her hands were unstable and unsteady once more.

Which made her lose her balance. But she didn’t expect a small audience to be watching her. She turned to look back as she gave up on her bow and arrow… and saw Edrick… Cregan’s younger brother watching her.

[edrickofwinterfell]

Edrick blinked at Benjen. Slowly. Like a man roused from the depths of some great and terrible slumber. Which, in his opinion, he had been.

Benjen had kicked open his door. Shouted in his face. Shaken him like a farmer testing a sack of grain for rot. And for what?

For nothing.

He rolled onto his side, halfheartedly wrenching his shirt free from Benjen’s grip and made a valiant attempt at tucking himself back beneath his blankets. “You are a cruel and unjust man,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “Tearing a sickly boy from his bed.”

Benjen yanked them away.

Edrick groaned. Loudly. Dramatically. Painfully. He flopped onto his back, staring at the ceiling as if it held the answers to all his woes. “I hope,” he whispered, “that the gods strike you down.”

“D’you ever think,” Edrick muttered, “that maybe people just like me more than they like you?”

That earned him a sharp scoff.

He grinned. “Lady Jenny certainly does.”

And really, what was the problem? Edrick had been polite. Civilized, even. He’d smiled and bowed and refrained from throwing anything at anyone. He’d behaved.

Benjen should’ve been proud.

Instead, he was hovering like a mother hen about to have a coronary, convinced Edrick was secretly orchestrating some kind of elaborate disaster.

To be fair, he was but that wasn't the point.

So, instead of answering, instead of confirming or denying whatever heinous crimes he had been accused of, Edrick merely sighed. "You're exhausting," he murmured, already halfway to sleep.

He let his body sink into the mattress, let his breathing slow, and let the weight of exhaustion drag him down.

Benjen was still standing there, still full of righteous fury, still waiting for a fight.

Edrick, with all the grace of a dying man, reached blindly for his stolen blankets.

Benjen threw them at his head.

𓆝 ON THE ROAD TO RUIN 𓆞

(A thread with @edrickofwinterfell)

The old scars ached, a dull throb that seemed to echo the rhythm of the carriage wheels. The fresh ones stung, raw and unforgiving, a reminder of Edrick's uncanny ability to find trouble where none should exist. The clouds above loomed heavy, stitching themselves together into a storm that seemed to follow them like a curse. And the day, Benjen thought bitterly, could still get worse. So much worse.

Edrick was too quiet. That was the problem. Silence from him was never a good sign, it left too much room for his mind to wander, to plot, to concoct schemes that could unravel the Seven Kingdoms if given half a chance. Benjen exhaled sharply through his nose, pinching the bridge of it as if the pressure could summon the patience he so desperately lacked. The carriage jolted violently over a rut in the road, and he took it as a personal affront from the gods themselves.

"Alright," Benjen began, his voice tight with the strain of keeping his temper in check. "Listen to me, you walking calamity. First rule: do not die. I mean it. No drowning, no picking fights with people twice your size, and if you so much as glance at a horse wrong and it kicks you in the head, I will personally toss your corpse into the Trident and tell Cregan it was fate."

He didn't bother to look at Edrick to see if he was paying attention. He didn't want to know. If he turned his head and caught sight of that smug, infuriating grin, he'd do something regrettable, like shoving him out of the carriage and letting the mud claim him.

Benjen's fingers traced the carriage wall absently, as if contemplating the logistics of such an act.

"Second," he continued, his tone sharp enough to cut through steel, "under no circumstances are you to speak to Lady Jenny. Not a word. I don't care if she asks you a direct question. I don't care if she orders you to speak. If she so much as looks at you, you are to pretend you've been struck dumb. If she tries to tend to some new, entirely avoidable injury of yours, you will shake your head and die quietly. She thinks I'm a well-mannered, respectable friend of her son, and I intend to keep it that way. You open that gaping maw of yours and say one thing about me-one true thing, mind you, which is infinitely worse than a lie— and I swear, I will murder you, resurrect you, and murder you again."

Benjen took a steadying breath, flexing his fingers as if to shake out the urge to strangle Edrick where he sat. It wasn't working. He had spent years carefully crafting an image for Lady Jenny to admire. She called him 'dear Ben', for the gods' sake! Benjen wasn't dear to most, and if that boy ruined this, everything would crumble.

"And while we're on the subject," he added, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl, "Oscar. Be nice to him. I know you think you're nice to people, but you're not. You're... you. And that is precisely the problem. So no teasing him, no telling him stories, and for the love of all that is holy, do not mention the time I got thrown out of Riverrun for a week. Or-" Benjen held up a finger, anticipating the exact way Edrick's lips would twitch into that infuriating smirk.

He regretted, deeply, the night he'd gotten drunk and confessed to flirting with Jenny in front of Kermit, resulting in his brief exile. Jenny, bless her, had barely noticed. "—or why I got thrown out of Riverrun. That's a separate warning. Jenny is one thing, but if Oscar finds out, he will kill me. And if you tell him, I will kill you first. Then Cregan will kill me.

And I do not want to deal with that particular afterlife, thank you very much."

Benjen finally glanced over, narrowing his eyes.

Edrick's face was infuriatingly blank. That was never a good sign.

"And while we're at it," Benjen pressed on, his voice rising slightly, "don't talk shit about me to Oscar. Or anyone, really. I know how your mind works. You get bored, you start talking, and before I know it, Lady Jenny is looking at me like I personally burned down a sept and Kermit's threatening to banish me again. It took me months to get back in his good graces after the last time, and if you ruin this for me, I will find a way to ruin you."

Benjen scrubbed a hand down his face, already exhausted, and let out a slow, measured breath. Would Cregan be angry if he stuffed Edrick into a barrel and kicked him back to Winterfell? Probably.

But it was tempting.

"Now," Benjen said, his voice tight with barely restrained frustration, "about the brothels." Another regret. He needed to evaluate why he had the habit of confessing everything to this insufferable pest.

"You are not coming with me. Don't argue. Don't look at me like that. I am there on official business. This is serious. Kermit asked me, specifically, to bid farewell to the brothels in his name, because he is a devoted man now, a changed man, and none of his other friends can be trusted with the task because they partake in such things. And I, being the best of all his friends and the only one who doesn't sleep around with whores, have agreed to see it done."

He pointed a finger at Edrick, as if warning him against whatever smart remark he was no doubt preparing. The bastard had the audacity to smile. Smile!

"I know leaving you unattended is dangerous. I know you're already plotting something. But I am not bringing you with me. You will not talk your way into this. I am putting my foot down. My whole damn leg, if I have to. And if I return to find that you've somehow burned down half of Riverrun or been adopted by Lady Jenny or are otherwise involved in something catastrophic, I will end you, Edrick. End you."

Benjen folded his arms and sat back, his jaw tight. Maybe he should lock Edrick in his chambers. Maybe he should hire a guard. Maybe he should simply regret every life choice that had led him to this moment and perish on the spot. The carriage shook again, and they weren't even close to Riverrun.

"You know," Benjen said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "I didn't have to bring you. I could've left you in Winterfell. But no. I thought, 'Ben, this is an opportunity. A chance to shape Ed into a respectable guest.' And this is how you repay me?" He gestured pointedly at Edrick's deceptively innocent expression. "By looking at me with that face, thinking whatever it is you're thinking? No. No, 1 won't have it. You will behave. You will be normal. You will act as if you have some measure of sense in that thick skull of yours, or so help me, Edrick, I will leave you on the side of the road and pretend I never knew you."

A deep breath. A slow exhale.

"Now," Benjen said, his tone clipped and final. "Any questions, sweetheart?"

[edrickofwinterfell]

Edrick stretched out, long limbs taking up as much space as possible, his boots scuffing against Benjen’s leg in a slow, deliberate scrape. Just to be annoying. Just to see if he could make that throbbing vein in Benjen’s forehead pop out.

Benjen didn’t react. Damn.

He draped himself dramatically across his seat, sighing like a man burdened by the weight of the world. “You wound me, Ben,” he drawled, though he knew Benjen wasn’t listening. “Truly, I am devastated by your low opinion of me.”

Benjen hummed absently, more interested in watching his own smoke trails than in dealing with Edrick.

A waste.

Edrick considered his options.

One: behave. Do what Benjen asked, sit quietly, and not cause trouble. Unacceptable. It was against his very nature. Like asking a fish to walk, or Benjen to experience joy in his presence.

Two: push Benjen just far enough that he vibrated with barely contained rage but not far enough to get stabbed. Again. More acceptable, but still lacking in flair.

Three: make a catastrophic mess of things, not by accident, but with precision. With intent. Break precisely the rules that would inconvenience Benjen the most, while ensuring his own well-being remained intact. Oh, yes. Perfect.

The issue wasn’t the brothel. That part was easy. Edrick had no desire to partake in whatever depraved nonsense happened behind those doors. But what he did have, and always would have, was an uncanny ability to be present at the exact wrong moment. He’d show up at just the right time to make Benjen sweat, throw a few words around that could be misinterpreted in the worst possible way, and then leave, satisfied with the chaos he had wrought.

And Lady Jenny? Edrick would speak to her. He would be a delight. He would charm her with every ounce of mischief in his bones, ensuring she adored him. If he played it right, she might even start comparing him favorably to Benjen, which would be the ultimate victory.

His eyes flicked back to Benjen, still sprawled out, still lost in the lazy haze of hax. A lesser man might have taken the opportunity to push his buttons, maybe bring up Jenny again, or Abigail, or—whatever deep, shameful regret Benjen carried about Riverrun.

But Edrick wasn’t interested in whatever pitiful excuse for a love life the man had. He wasn’t interested in love at all, or romance, or any of the tedious entanglements that made men weak and stupid.

The rain started, soft at first, then harder, drumming against the roof like a war march.

Edrick smiled at a butterfly resting at the carriage side.

This was going to be wonderful.

𓆝 ON THE ROAD TO RUIN 𓆞

(A thread with @edrickofwinterfell)

The old scars ached, a dull throb that seemed to echo the rhythm of the carriage wheels. The fresh ones stung, raw and unforgiving, a reminder of Edrick's uncanny ability to find trouble where none should exist. The clouds above loomed heavy, stitching themselves together into a storm that seemed to follow them like a curse. And the day, Benjen thought bitterly, could still get worse. So much worse.

Edrick was too quiet. That was the problem. Silence from him was never a good sign, it left too much room for his mind to wander, to plot, to concoct schemes that could unravel the Seven Kingdoms if given half a chance. Benjen exhaled sharply through his nose, pinching the bridge of it as if the pressure could summon the patience he so desperately lacked. The carriage jolted violently over a rut in the road, and he took it as a personal affront from the gods themselves.

"Alright," Benjen began, his voice tight with the strain of keeping his temper in check. "Listen to me, you walking calamity. First rule: do not die. I mean it. No drowning, no picking fights with people twice your size, and if you so much as glance at a horse wrong and it kicks you in the head, I will personally toss your corpse into the Trident and tell Cregan it was fate."

He didn't bother to look at Edrick to see if he was paying attention. He didn't want to know. If he turned his head and caught sight of that smug, infuriating grin, he'd do something regrettable, like shoving him out of the carriage and letting the mud claim him.

Benjen's fingers traced the carriage wall absently, as if contemplating the logistics of such an act.

"Second," he continued, his tone sharp enough to cut through steel, "under no circumstances are you to speak to Lady Jenny. Not a word. I don't care if she asks you a direct question. I don't care if she orders you to speak. If she so much as looks at you, you are to pretend you've been struck dumb. If she tries to tend to some new, entirely avoidable injury of yours, you will shake your head and die quietly. She thinks I'm a well-mannered, respectable friend of her son, and I intend to keep it that way. You open that gaping maw of yours and say one thing about me-one true thing, mind you, which is infinitely worse than a lie— and I swear, I will murder you, resurrect you, and murder you again."

Benjen took a steadying breath, flexing his fingers as if to shake out the urge to strangle Edrick where he sat. It wasn't working. He had spent years carefully crafting an image for Lady Jenny to admire. She called him 'dear Ben', for the gods' sake! Benjen wasn't dear to most, and if that boy ruined this, everything would crumble.

"And while we're on the subject," he added, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl, "Oscar. Be nice to him. I know you think you're nice to people, but you're not. You're... you. And that is precisely the problem. So no teasing him, no telling him stories, and for the love of all that is holy, do not mention the time I got thrown out of Riverrun for a week. Or-" Benjen held up a finger, anticipating the exact way Edrick's lips would twitch into that infuriating smirk.

He regretted, deeply, the night he'd gotten drunk and confessed to flirting with Jenny in front of Kermit, resulting in his brief exile. Jenny, bless her, had barely noticed. "—or why I got thrown out of Riverrun. That's a separate warning. Jenny is one thing, but if Oscar finds out, he will kill me. And if you tell him, I will kill you first. Then Cregan will kill me.

And I do not want to deal with that particular afterlife, thank you very much."

Benjen finally glanced over, narrowing his eyes.

Edrick's face was infuriatingly blank. That was never a good sign.

"And while we're at it," Benjen pressed on, his voice rising slightly, "don't talk shit about me to Oscar. Or anyone, really. I know how your mind works. You get bored, you start talking, and before I know it, Lady Jenny is looking at me like I personally burned down a sept and Kermit's threatening to banish me again. It took me months to get back in his good graces after the last time, and if you ruin this for me, I will find a way to ruin you."

Benjen scrubbed a hand down his face, already exhausted, and let out a slow, measured breath. Would Cregan be angry if he stuffed Edrick into a barrel and kicked him back to Winterfell? Probably.

But it was tempting.

"Now," Benjen said, his voice tight with barely restrained frustration, "about the brothels." Another regret. He needed to evaluate why he had the habit of confessing everything to this insufferable pest.

"You are not coming with me. Don't argue. Don't look at me like that. I am there on official business. This is serious. Kermit asked me, specifically, to bid farewell to the brothels in his name, because he is a devoted man now, a changed man, and none of his other friends can be trusted with the task because they partake in such things. And I, being the best of all his friends and the only one who doesn't sleep around with whores, have agreed to see it done."

He pointed a finger at Edrick, as if warning him against whatever smart remark he was no doubt preparing. The bastard had the audacity to smile. Smile!

"I know leaving you unattended is dangerous. I know you're already plotting something. But I am not bringing you with me. You will not talk your way into this. I am putting my foot down. My whole damn leg, if I have to. And if I return to find that you've somehow burned down half of Riverrun or been adopted by Lady Jenny or are otherwise involved in something catastrophic, I will end you, Edrick. End you."

Benjen folded his arms and sat back, his jaw tight. Maybe he should lock Edrick in his chambers. Maybe he should hire a guard. Maybe he should simply regret every life choice that had led him to this moment and perish on the spot. The carriage shook again, and they weren't even close to Riverrun.

"You know," Benjen said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "I didn't have to bring you. I could've left you in Winterfell. But no. I thought, 'Ben, this is an opportunity. A chance to shape Ed into a respectable guest.' And this is how you repay me?" He gestured pointedly at Edrick's deceptively innocent expression. "By looking at me with that face, thinking whatever it is you're thinking? No. No, 1 won't have it. You will behave. You will be normal. You will act as if you have some measure of sense in that thick skull of yours, or so help me, Edrick, I will leave you on the side of the road and pretend I never knew you."

A deep breath. A slow exhale.

"Now," Benjen said, his tone clipped and final. "Any questions, sweetheart?"

[edrickofwinterfell]

Edrick stood with his arms crossed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched the Targaryen princess struggle with her bow. He hadn’t planned to stop and observe—he had merely been passing through the training grounds when the sight of her fumbling attempts caught his eye. It was amusing, in a way– too amusing to ignore. It wasn’t often one saw a dragon brought low by something as simple as an arrow.

He let out a low chuckle, just loud enough for her to hear. “Giving up already, princess?” His tone was edged with mockery, but there was no true malice in it.

"Don’t stop on my account, good sister," he drawled,"I was just wondering if I should call for a maester. It looks like you’re struggling with a grave illness—shaking hands, weak stance. Tragic, really."

"You know," he smirked, taking a few steps forward, "I've seen green boys handle a bow better than that." His smirk was lazy, bordering on smug. "Are you trying to kill the target, or yourself? Because at this rate, you’re more of a threat to the snow beneath your feet."

He held up his hands in mock surrender. "Just saying. If you keep holding that string like you’re trying to strangle it, you’ll never hit anything."

Rhaenya exhaled sharply through her nose. Edrick chuckled. Oh, this was going to be fun.

He reached out, tapping the hand she clutched the bow with. “Loosen your fingers. Breathe before you pull back. Unless, of course, you prefer to miss.”

starter for @edrickofwinterfell

the weather was brighter than other days, as the princess went towards to the training grounds. the snow was cleaned off the grown, to create a clean pathway.

The princess had her arrow on her back as she wanted to practice what was taught by her husband. She unlatched it on from her back belt… as she started to set it up.

She knew how hard the arrow was… she had her leather gloves on as she started to look at the target.

She had to relax, calm her head down. The princess knew how much she had a temper, a targaryen temper. But this was something she had to work on especially when she shot an arrow.

Rhaenya was focusing on her arrow needing to shoot it at the target. the Princess had focused on the target her eyes trying her best to shoot it.

Her hands shook as she pulled back on the bow but her hands shook. The arrow came down as she lost balance as she sighed.

She wanted to throw the arrow break it snap it. This was frustrating as she looked at the at the target. She tried her again… but her hands were unstable and unsteady once more.

Which made her lose her balance. But she didn’t expect a small audience to be watching her. She turned to look back as she gave up on her bow and arrow… and saw Edrick… Cregan’s younger brother watching her.

[edrickofwinterfell]

Edrick tilted his head, letting Benjen’s tirade wash over him like a particularly entertaining storm. It was always fun watching him work himself into a frenzy, all huffy and furious like a scolded cat. He’d give it a solid eight out of ten. Points deducted for repetition—Ben had threatened to kill him at least four times, which was a little excessive, even by his standards.

When the silence finally stretched long enough to signal Benjen was, at last, done, Edrick took a deliberate pause. Letting him stew. Letting him wait. Then, in the most innocent tone he could muster, he asked:

“So… am I allowed to look at the horses, or is that too dangerous?”

Edrick leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a mock-conspiratorial whisper. “I mean, I get the logic. My track record with animals that are not Freki and Geri is, admittedly, spotty. But I just want to set expectations. Should I maintain eye contact? Avoid it completely? If I don’t acknowledge the horses, will they know I fear them? I need guidance, Ben.”

Benjen inhaled through his nose, slow and controlled, like a man actively restraining himself from murder.

Edrick, who had never once valued his own well-being, pressed on. “Oh! And speaking of expectations, about the brothel thing—"

“—I just need clarification,” Edrick said smoothly, raising both hands in a placating gesture that was, in reality, the opposite of placating. “When you say you’re going on ‘official business’—” here, he made exaggerated air quotes, just to be insufferable, “—does that mean you’re going to give a very solemn farewell? Maybe a nice speech? A heartfelt goodbye to the brothel girls who will, I assume, weep at the loss of your… friendship?”

“Or,” Edrick continued, tapping his chin in faux contemplation, “is this more of a dramatic, single tear down the cheek sort of farewell? A long, lingering look? Maybe you leave behind a keepsake—a silver stag, a lock of your hair—so they always remember the noble Benjen Mormont, greatest of all Kermit’s friends?”

Benjen rubbed both hands down his face. He looked like a man rapidly considering a career change. Something peaceful. Like hermitry.

Edrick grinned, thoroughly pleased with himself. “You know,” he mused, tapping the carriage wall, “for all your dramatics, you didn’t say anything about me going to a brothel. Just that I wasn’t going with you.”

Benjen exhaled through gritted teeth.

“Oh!” Edrick perked up. “One last question. If I do somehow get adopted by Lady Jenny, does that mean I can't flirt with her daughter?– Or will I get exiled too?”

𓆝 ON THE ROAD TO RUIN 𓆞

(A thread with @edrickofwinterfell)

The old scars ached, a dull throb that seemed to echo the rhythm of the carriage wheels. The fresh ones stung, raw and unforgiving, a reminder of Edrick's uncanny ability to find trouble where none should exist. The clouds above loomed heavy, stitching themselves together into a storm that seemed to follow them like a curse. And the day, Benjen thought bitterly, could still get worse. So much worse.

Edrick was too quiet. That was the problem. Silence from him was never a good sign, it left too much room for his mind to wander, to plot, to concoct schemes that could unravel the Seven Kingdoms if given half a chance. Benjen exhaled sharply through his nose, pinching the bridge of it as if the pressure could summon the patience he so desperately lacked. The carriage jolted violently over a rut in the road, and he took it as a personal affront from the gods themselves.

"Alright," Benjen began, his voice tight with the strain of keeping his temper in check. "Listen to me, you walking calamity. First rule: do not die. I mean it. No drowning, no picking fights with people twice your size, and if you so much as glance at a horse wrong and it kicks you in the head, I will personally toss your corpse into the Trident and tell Cregan it was fate."

He didn't bother to look at Edrick to see if he was paying attention. He didn't want to know. If he turned his head and caught sight of that smug, infuriating grin, he'd do something regrettable, like shoving him out of the carriage and letting the mud claim him.

Benjen's fingers traced the carriage wall absently, as if contemplating the logistics of such an act.

"Second," he continued, his tone sharp enough to cut through steel, "under no circumstances are you to speak to Lady Jenny. Not a word. I don't care if she asks you a direct question. I don't care if she orders you to speak. If she so much as looks at you, you are to pretend you've been struck dumb. If she tries to tend to some new, entirely avoidable injury of yours, you will shake your head and die quietly. She thinks I'm a well-mannered, respectable friend of her son, and I intend to keep it that way. You open that gaping maw of yours and say one thing about me-one true thing, mind you, which is infinitely worse than a lie— and I swear, I will murder you, resurrect you, and murder you again."

Benjen took a steadying breath, flexing his fingers as if to shake out the urge to strangle Edrick where he sat. It wasn't working. He had spent years carefully crafting an image for Lady Jenny to admire. She called him 'dear Ben', for the gods' sake! Benjen wasn't dear to most, and if that boy ruined this, everything would crumble.

"And while we're on the subject," he added, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl, "Oscar. Be nice to him. I know you think you're nice to people, but you're not. You're... you. And that is precisely the problem. So no teasing him, no telling him stories, and for the love of all that is holy, do not mention the time I got thrown out of Riverrun for a week. Or-" Benjen held up a finger, anticipating the exact way Edrick's lips would twitch into that infuriating smirk.

He regretted, deeply, the night he'd gotten drunk and confessed to flirting with Jenny in front of Kermit, resulting in his brief exile. Jenny, bless her, had barely noticed. "—or why I got thrown out of Riverrun. That's a separate warning. Jenny is one thing, but if Oscar finds out, he will kill me. And if you tell him, I will kill you first. Then Cregan will kill me.

And I do not want to deal with that particular afterlife, thank you very much."

Benjen finally glanced over, narrowing his eyes.

Edrick's face was infuriatingly blank. That was never a good sign.

"And while we're at it," Benjen pressed on, his voice rising slightly, "don't talk shit about me to Oscar. Or anyone, really. I know how your mind works. You get bored, you start talking, and before I know it, Lady Jenny is looking at me like I personally burned down a sept and Kermit's threatening to banish me again. It took me months to get back in his good graces after the last time, and if you ruin this for me, I will find a way to ruin you."

Benjen scrubbed a hand down his face, already exhausted, and let out a slow, measured breath. Would Cregan be angry if he stuffed Edrick into a barrel and kicked him back to Winterfell? Probably.

But it was tempting.

"Now," Benjen said, his voice tight with barely restrained frustration, "about the brothels." Another regret. He needed to evaluate why he had the habit of confessing everything to this insufferable pest.

"You are not coming with me. Don't argue. Don't look at me like that. I am there on official business. This is serious. Kermit asked me, specifically, to bid farewell to the brothels in his name, because he is a devoted man now, a changed man, and none of his other friends can be trusted with the task because they partake in such things. And I, being the best of all his friends and the only one who doesn't sleep around with whores, have agreed to see it done."

He pointed a finger at Edrick, as if warning him against whatever smart remark he was no doubt preparing. The bastard had the audacity to smile. Smile!

"I know leaving you unattended is dangerous. I know you're already plotting something. But I am not bringing you with me. You will not talk your way into this. I am putting my foot down. My whole damn leg, if I have to. And if I return to find that you've somehow burned down half of Riverrun or been adopted by Lady Jenny or are otherwise involved in something catastrophic, I will end you, Edrick. End you."

Benjen folded his arms and sat back, his jaw tight. Maybe he should lock Edrick in his chambers. Maybe he should hire a guard. Maybe he should simply regret every life choice that had led him to this moment and perish on the spot. The carriage shook again, and they weren't even close to Riverrun.

"You know," Benjen said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "I didn't have to bring you. I could've left you in Winterfell. But no. I thought, 'Ben, this is an opportunity. A chance to shape Ed into a respectable guest.' And this is how you repay me?" He gestured pointedly at Edrick's deceptively innocent expression. "By looking at me with that face, thinking whatever it is you're thinking? No. No, 1 won't have it. You will behave. You will be normal. You will act as if you have some measure of sense in that thick skull of yours, or so help me, Edrick, I will leave you on the side of the road and pretend I never knew you."

A deep breath. A slow exhale.

"Now," Benjen said, his tone clipped and final. "Any questions, sweetheart?"

[edrickofwinterfell]

Edrick arched a brow, wiping a trickle of water from his face with exaggerated slowness. “Riverrun?” he echoed, tilting his head as if contemplating the offer. “I don’t know, Ben. Sounds awfully dull. No ice to fall through. Plenty rivers to nearly drown in. What ever will I do to entertain myself? gods forbid we experience a single moment of peace.”

Benjen cracked an eye open, fixing him with a look that spoke volumes of barely restrained patience. Edrick had seen that look before—usually right before Benjen either hurled him bodily into something unpleasant or stormed off before he could do so.

Edrick leaned back, stretching his arms along the edge of the bath, basking in the heat. “Though,” he mused, “I suppose it wouldn’t be the worst idea. A change of scenery, new faces to charm, a whole new place full of people to inflect myself upon—”

Benjen gave him that look again.

Edrick leaned back, sinking into the water, considering.

On the one hand, he should probably stay in Winterfell. Cregan would have his hide if he disappeared so soon after nearly drowning himself like a particularly witless pup. But on the other, it wasn’t every day Benjen invited him anywhere that wasn’t a death trap. The last time had been a hunting trip that ended with them stranded overnight in a cave, half-frozen, and waiting out a blizzard. And even that had been Edrick’s idea, technically.

Riverrun, though—that was new.

He let the silence stretch a little longer, just to be difficult, before finally sighing. “Fine I'll go.” He turned his head smirking. “But if it's boring, I reserve the right to push you in a large body of water.”

Edrick grinned, sinking deeper into the water, letting it lap at his chin. Riverrun, then. It wasn't the worst way to spend his time.

Besides, if Benjen was planning something, well - Edrick had always enjoyed ruining plans.

⋆❅‧ HOW TO FALL WITH DIGNITY (YOU CAN’T) ⋆❅‧

(Starter with @edrickofwinterfell)

Benjen did not belong here.

Bear Island had its winters, sure—frozen shores, treacherous tides, and the occasional snowstorm that could bury a man alive if he wasn’t careful. But this? This thin, brittle sheet of ice stretched over the godswood pond was a different beast entirely. It was mocking him. He could feel it.

His boots, usually so sure and steady, had been cast aside in favor of sharpened bone skates, strapped tightly to his feet by the little demon currently gliding in circles around him like a vulture waiting for its meal to keel over.

Edrick Stark was a menace on ice. The boy cut across the frozen lake as if he’d been born to it, twisting, turning, and carving patterns into the surface with infuriating ease. Meanwhile, Benjen stood wobbling on the edge like a newborn fawn, one wrong shift away from total disaster.

“This is hardly fair,” Benjen muttered, flexing his fingers. His gauntlets were already off, tossed aside when he realized they were about as useful as a sword in a snowball fight. He’d fallen three times just trying to stand, and his pride—not to mention his backside—was still recovering. “You weigh as much as my left leg. I, on the other hand, am a *normal* size.”

Benjen clenched his jaw. He had faced worse than this. He had warged into his own warhorse mid-battle, dodging arrows and spears like they were flies. He had stood before Cregan Stark and sworn to serve him until death, all while maintaining a straight face despite the man’s notoriously terrible breath. He had even tolerated Kermit Tully’s drunk singing without throwing the man into a river.

He could ice skate.

He stepped forward. The ice, traitorous and cruel, slid out from under him. For a fleeting second, he was weightless, arms flailing, feet flying—

Then, disaster.

Benjen crashed down onto his back with the force of a dying mammoth. A crack rang through the ice, but the surface held. His dignity, however, did not.

Edrick, of course, was already laughing.

Benjen groaned, staring up at the sky. “Seven hells.”

He shifted, testing whether he could get up without making things worse. The answer was a resounding *no*. Edrick was giggling so hard people would probably hear him from Dorne.

Benjen sighed, long and slow. “You are a very small, very annoying creature, Stark.”

Edrick leaned down, extending a hand after cracking a joke Benjen wouldn’t dignify by repeating. Benjen took it, not because he needed help, but because the little pest would never let him hear the end of it otherwise.

He grunted as he pulled himself up. The ice groaned beneath his weight, but it held. For now. Maybe if Benjen warged into a bear, he could at least have the satisfaction of chasing the boy off the lake. Another slide, another crack. He could keep trying to get up, which would almost certainly end in another fall. He could accept defeat and let the ice claim him. Or—

With a slow, deliberate movement, he reached into the fur-lined collar of his cloak, withdrew a handful of snow, and lobbed it at Edrick’s face.

The boy squawked mid-jest, skates skidding wildly as he tried to dodge, but the snow caught him square on the ear.

Benjen smirked. "Not so graceful now, are you?"

Maybe Winterfell wasn’t so bad this time of year. Or maybe he’d just hit his head harder than he thought.

[edrickofwinterfell]

Edrick, for his part, was feeling rather pleased with himself. He was alive, wasn’t he? That was a victory. A bit of water in the lungs was nothing. He had survived worse.

He sank deeper into the water, letting it lap over his shoulders, heat seeping deep into his bones. He wasn’t shivering anymore—at least, not from the cold, joining Benjen rather than rotting in blankets was the best decision he's ever made.

He cracked one eye open, studying the Bear Islander through the drifting mist.

Benjen sat across from him, arms stretched along the stone edge, his face a study in exhaustion and lingering exasperation. His hair, damp and curling from the steam, clung to his forehead, and the cut on his arm was wrapped, though not nearly as well as the maesters would have liked. Edrick had never seen the man look more at peace—nor more like he was contemplating homicide.

Benjen’s gaze was fixed on the ceiling, his lips pressed in a line, his fingers tapping idly against the wet stone.

Silence stretched between them

Edrick took a breath. Then, with all the casual ease of a man who hadn’t nearly drowned hours ago, he smirked.

“Well,” he drawled, “that was invigorating.”

Benjen’s head snapped toward him so fast Edrick was surprised he didn’t sprain something.

Edrick, still grinning, tilted his head. “Come now Ben, That was an adventure. A proper test of skill and wit. I say we do it again.”

Benjen’s expression remained neutral.

Then, with agonizing slowness, he reached across the steaming water, seized Edrick by the back of the neck, and shoved him under.

Water rushed over his head before he had the chance to do more than inhale sharply.

He was yanked back up just as fast, coughing and spluttering, water streaming from his hair and down his face.

Benjen, infuriatingly, was already leaning back again, eyes closed, looking for all the world as if nothing had happened.

Edrick glared. “That was uncalled for.”

Edrick wrung water from his hair with great dignity, watching his so-called friend through narrowed eyes. “Prick.”

Edrick’s smirk faded at the lack of a reply.

There had been a moment—just a moment—when Benjen had looked at him back when he was not-drowning, when his voice had rasped with something that wasn’t quite anger, wasn’t quite fear. A moment where Edrick had almost felt bad for making him feel it.

Almost.

After a long moment, Edrick sighed, glancing sideways at Benjen.

“...Thanks for dragging me and whatever.”

Benjen didn’t react at first.

Then, slowly, he cracked one eye open, peering at Edrick with open suspicion.

Edrick rolled his eyes. “Oh, for the love of—yes, I can say something nice. I’m perfectly capable.”

⋆❅‧ HOW TO FALL WITH DIGNITY (YOU CAN’T) ⋆❅‧

(Starter with @edrickofwinterfell)

Benjen did not belong here.

Bear Island had its winters, sure—frozen shores, treacherous tides, and the occasional snowstorm that could bury a man alive if he wasn’t careful. But this? This thin, brittle sheet of ice stretched over the godswood pond was a different beast entirely. It was mocking him. He could feel it.

His boots, usually so sure and steady, had been cast aside in favor of sharpened bone skates, strapped tightly to his feet by the little demon currently gliding in circles around him like a vulture waiting for its meal to keel over.

Edrick Stark was a menace on ice. The boy cut across the frozen lake as if he’d been born to it, twisting, turning, and carving patterns into the surface with infuriating ease. Meanwhile, Benjen stood wobbling on the edge like a newborn fawn, one wrong shift away from total disaster.

“This is hardly fair,” Benjen muttered, flexing his fingers. His gauntlets were already off, tossed aside when he realized they were about as useful as a sword in a snowball fight. He’d fallen three times just trying to stand, and his pride—not to mention his backside—was still recovering. “You weigh as much as my left leg. I, on the other hand, am a *normal* size.”

Benjen clenched his jaw. He had faced worse than this. He had warged into his own warhorse mid-battle, dodging arrows and spears like they were flies. He had stood before Cregan Stark and sworn to serve him until death, all while maintaining a straight face despite the man’s notoriously terrible breath. He had even tolerated Kermit Tully’s drunk singing without throwing the man into a river.

He could ice skate.

He stepped forward. The ice, traitorous and cruel, slid out from under him. For a fleeting second, he was weightless, arms flailing, feet flying—

Then, disaster.

Benjen crashed down onto his back with the force of a dying mammoth. A crack rang through the ice, but the surface held. His dignity, however, did not.

Edrick, of course, was already laughing.

Benjen groaned, staring up at the sky. “Seven hells.”

He shifted, testing whether he could get up without making things worse. The answer was a resounding *no*. Edrick was giggling so hard people would probably hear him from Dorne.

Benjen sighed, long and slow. “You are a very small, very annoying creature, Stark.”

Edrick leaned down, extending a hand after cracking a joke Benjen wouldn’t dignify by repeating. Benjen took it, not because he needed help, but because the little pest would never let him hear the end of it otherwise.

He grunted as he pulled himself up. The ice groaned beneath his weight, but it held. For now. Maybe if Benjen warged into a bear, he could at least have the satisfaction of chasing the boy off the lake. Another slide, another crack. He could keep trying to get up, which would almost certainly end in another fall. He could accept defeat and let the ice claim him. Or—

With a slow, deliberate movement, he reached into the fur-lined collar of his cloak, withdrew a handful of snow, and lobbed it at Edrick’s face.

The boy squawked mid-jest, skates skidding wildly as he tried to dodge, but the snow caught him square on the ear.

Benjen smirked. "Not so graceful now, are you?"

Maybe Winterfell wasn’t so bad this time of year. Or maybe he’d just hit his head harder than he thought.

[edrickofwinterfell]

He wasn’t dying.

He was in bed. A warm bed. A stupid, overstuffed, swelteringly hot bed, wrapped so tightly in furs he could barely move. His head pounded and his limbs ached with a dull, lingering cold that made him want to curl in on himself and never move again– especially since he knew Cregan would be fussing soon enough.

Oh and Benjen was there.

Edrick cracked open one eye, scowling at the shadowy figure looming over him, hair a wild, half-frozen mess, face drawn with exhaustion, expression wrought with something Edrick didn’t particularly like the look of.

Something about it made his stomach twist.

Edrick licked his lips, swallowing past the rawness in his throat. His voice came out hoarse, rasping: "Benjen, if you're about to cry like a little bitch, I swear I’ll—"

Benjen’s scowl snapped into place so fast Edrick almost smiled.

Edrick tried to straighten, attempting to shift beneath the furs. Impossible. He was cocooned like a babe in swaddling. "You can't forbid me from anything, you overgrown bear you're not my brother!"

But then Edrick looked at him. Really looked at him. The tension in his shoulders. The way his hands curled like he was trying to stop them from shaking. The cut where his skates bled him, the raw edges of something fraying just beneath the surface.

Guilt, sharp and unexpected, bit at the back of Edrick’s throat.

He shook his head attempting to get rid of the unfamiliar emotion, “Don’t flatter yourself, Benjen,” he huffed. “I’m... not that easy to kill– as a thousand illnesses from my childhood can tell you.”

“And I told you,” he murmured, voice barely more than a whisper, “ice… is my domain.”

⋆❅‧ HOW TO FALL WITH DIGNITY (YOU CAN’T) ⋆❅‧

(Starter with @edrickofwinterfell)

Benjen did not belong here.

Bear Island had its winters, sure—frozen shores, treacherous tides, and the occasional snowstorm that could bury a man alive if he wasn’t careful. But this? This thin, brittle sheet of ice stretched over the godswood pond was a different beast entirely. It was mocking him. He could feel it.

His boots, usually so sure and steady, had been cast aside in favor of sharpened bone skates, strapped tightly to his feet by the little demon currently gliding in circles around him like a vulture waiting for its meal to keel over.

Edrick Stark was a menace on ice. The boy cut across the frozen lake as if he’d been born to it, twisting, turning, and carving patterns into the surface with infuriating ease. Meanwhile, Benjen stood wobbling on the edge like a newborn fawn, one wrong shift away from total disaster.

“This is hardly fair,” Benjen muttered, flexing his fingers. His gauntlets were already off, tossed aside when he realized they were about as useful as a sword in a snowball fight. He’d fallen three times just trying to stand, and his pride—not to mention his backside—was still recovering. “You weigh as much as my left leg. I, on the other hand, am a *normal* size.”

Benjen clenched his jaw. He had faced worse than this. He had warged into his own warhorse mid-battle, dodging arrows and spears like they were flies. He had stood before Cregan Stark and sworn to serve him until death, all while maintaining a straight face despite the man’s notoriously terrible breath. He had even tolerated Kermit Tully’s drunk singing without throwing the man into a river.

He could ice skate.

He stepped forward. The ice, traitorous and cruel, slid out from under him. For a fleeting second, he was weightless, arms flailing, feet flying—

Then, disaster.

Benjen crashed down onto his back with the force of a dying mammoth. A crack rang through the ice, but the surface held. His dignity, however, did not.

Edrick, of course, was already laughing.

Benjen groaned, staring up at the sky. “Seven hells.”

He shifted, testing whether he could get up without making things worse. The answer was a resounding *no*. Edrick was giggling so hard people would probably hear him from Dorne.

Benjen sighed, long and slow. “You are a very small, very annoying creature, Stark.”

Edrick leaned down, extending a hand after cracking a joke Benjen wouldn’t dignify by repeating. Benjen took it, not because he needed help, but because the little pest would never let him hear the end of it otherwise.

He grunted as he pulled himself up. The ice groaned beneath his weight, but it held. For now. Maybe if Benjen warged into a bear, he could at least have the satisfaction of chasing the boy off the lake. Another slide, another crack. He could keep trying to get up, which would almost certainly end in another fall. He could accept defeat and let the ice claim him. Or—

With a slow, deliberate movement, he reached into the fur-lined collar of his cloak, withdrew a handful of snow, and lobbed it at Edrick’s face.

The boy squawked mid-jest, skates skidding wildly as he tried to dodge, but the snow caught him square on the ear.

Benjen smirked. "Not so graceful now, are you?"

Maybe Winterfell wasn’t so bad this time of year. Or maybe he’d just hit his head harder than he thought.

[edrickofwinterfell]

Edrick Stark is a son of the north, he knows cold as intimately as he knows himself.

Cold was the chill that settled in his bones no matter how many furs he piled atop them. Cold was waking in the night shivering, his breath thin and tight in his chest. Cold was the ever-present weight of his body betraying him, his limbs weak when they should have been strong.

This? This was something else entirely.

The lake swallowed him whole. It wrenched the air from his lungs, carved its way into his ribs, stole the very breath from his lips before he could even think to take it back. His limbs went sluggish, useless, his heart hammering against his ribs in a desperate bid to keep him alive. the cold was absolute. It seized Edrick’s lungs in a crushing grip, dragged sharp nails down his spine, and coiled tight around his ribs like a snake determined to squeeze the life from him. The lake swallowed him whole, an abyss of black and frozen silence, and for one terrible moment, his body refused him.

His limbs did not flail, his breath did not come, and his pulse—his weak, traitorous pulse—stammered like a dying thing, barely managing to sputter to life before his body took over.

Survive.

Fucking god Benjen if he makes it out alive he's going to strangle him.

He forced his arms to move, forced his legs to kick, clawing his way back toward the surface even as the cold gnawed at his flesh. It was weak, pathetic—but it was enough.

His head broke through the ice with a gasp, sharp and ragged, his lungs seem to drink more freezing water than air but Edrick had once broken a fever by drinking a litre of ice water, oh it had come back with vengeance half a day later but he had definitely broken it so he was going to be fine, probably. He sucked in air so sharply he swore it sliced open his throat.

He could hear Benjen’s wheezing laugh, hoarse and shaking. He could see the bastard dragging himself toward the ice’s edge after throwing more water at Edrick, shivering like a drowned rat but wearing that infuriating grin all the same.

Oh Edrick was going to make him suffer.

He did not speak. He did not waste the air rattling in his chest or the energy he did not have trying to shout his fury. He merely stared—wide-eyed, shaking, lips lavender, face frightened.

Benjen’s smirk faltered.

Good.

Edrick let himself sink just a little, just enough to shudder violently, just enough to let his limbs go slack before he coughed—a thin, rasping thing that cracked in his throat. The kind of cough men heard in deathbeds and sickrooms, the kind that made old maesters frown and shake their heads. It had always come easy to him. Fuelled by spite (–and the ice water in his lungs) it came even easier now.

⋆❅‧ HOW TO FALL WITH DIGNITY (YOU CAN’T) ⋆❅‧

(Starter with @edrickofwinterfell)

Benjen did not belong here.

Bear Island had its winters, sure—frozen shores, treacherous tides, and the occasional snowstorm that could bury a man alive if he wasn’t careful. But this? This thin, brittle sheet of ice stretched over the godswood pond was a different beast entirely. It was mocking him. He could feel it.

His boots, usually so sure and steady, had been cast aside in favor of sharpened bone skates, strapped tightly to his feet by the little demon currently gliding in circles around him like a vulture waiting for its meal to keel over.

Edrick Stark was a menace on ice. The boy cut across the frozen lake as if he’d been born to it, twisting, turning, and carving patterns into the surface with infuriating ease. Meanwhile, Benjen stood wobbling on the edge like a newborn fawn, one wrong shift away from total disaster.

“This is hardly fair,” Benjen muttered, flexing his fingers. His gauntlets were already off, tossed aside when he realized they were about as useful as a sword in a snowball fight. He’d fallen three times just trying to stand, and his pride—not to mention his backside—was still recovering. “You weigh as much as my left leg. I, on the other hand, am a *normal* size.”

Benjen clenched his jaw. He had faced worse than this. He had warged into his own warhorse mid-battle, dodging arrows and spears like they were flies. He had stood before Cregan Stark and sworn to serve him until death, all while maintaining a straight face despite the man’s notoriously terrible breath. He had even tolerated Kermit Tully’s drunk singing without throwing the man into a river.

He could ice skate.

He stepped forward. The ice, traitorous and cruel, slid out from under him. For a fleeting second, he was weightless, arms flailing, feet flying—

Then, disaster.

Benjen crashed down onto his back with the force of a dying mammoth. A crack rang through the ice, but the surface held. His dignity, however, did not.

Edrick, of course, was already laughing.

Benjen groaned, staring up at the sky. “Seven hells.”

He shifted, testing whether he could get up without making things worse. The answer was a resounding *no*. Edrick was giggling so hard people would probably hear him from Dorne.

Benjen sighed, long and slow. “You are a very small, very annoying creature, Stark.”

Edrick leaned down, extending a hand after cracking a joke Benjen wouldn’t dignify by repeating. Benjen took it, not because he needed help, but because the little pest would never let him hear the end of it otherwise.

He grunted as he pulled himself up. The ice groaned beneath his weight, but it held. For now. Maybe if Benjen warged into a bear, he could at least have the satisfaction of chasing the boy off the lake. Another slide, another crack. He could keep trying to get up, which would almost certainly end in another fall. He could accept defeat and let the ice claim him. Or—

With a slow, deliberate movement, he reached into the fur-lined collar of his cloak, withdrew a handful of snow, and lobbed it at Edrick’s face.

The boy squawked mid-jest, skates skidding wildly as he tried to dodge, but the snow caught him square on the ear.

Benjen smirked. "Not so graceful now, are you?"

Maybe Winterfell wasn’t so bad this time of year. Or maybe he’d just hit his head harder than he thought.