mountainvroyce

[mountainvroyce]

.

axell’s mouth twitched, the ghost of a smirk forming at the corner of his lips as he stepped closer, the heavy leather of his boots muffled by the mossy ground. he didn’t rush her, didn’t force her to face him entirely—he knew better than to press too hard, too fast. some things were better when they came willingly.

“i wasn’t aware you considered singing to the trees a secret worth guarding,” he drawled, voice low, rough-edged. his eyes, dark and steady, moved over her carefully, lingering not on the delicate lines of her figure, but on the sharper edges—the coolness of her stare. perhaps there was a faint wariness tucked behind her amusement. smart, he thought. smarter than most of the women who fluttered around the eyrie.

he stopped a few paces from her, hands loose at his sides, posture deceptively relaxed. “and if i wanted to join in,” he said, his tone carrying that same low, rumbling humor. a slight smile on the ghost of runestone’s face “i would have.” he let the weight of the words settle, watching to see how she reacted. testing the waters.

the breeze stirred between them, carrying the faint scent of rain-soaked earth and pine. his gaze didn't waver.

“you’re right, though,” he said after a beat, voice dipping lower, more serious. “secrets are dangerous things.” he let the statement linger between them before tilting his head slightly, studying her. “lucky for you, i’m good at keeping them.”

his smile, if it could even be called that, was quick, sharp, and gone almost as soon as it appeared.

“you shouldn’t be out here alone,” he added finally, the edge of something harsher creeping back into his voice. “next time, if you insist on sneaking away, you best bring a sword—or someone willing to wield it for you. i know what lurks in these woods more than anyone.”

the woods were thick with the scent of damp earth, the fading light casting long shadows between the trees. it was quiet, almost unnervingly so, save for the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant call of a bird. lillith stood still as a stone, her dark figure blending with the deepening twilight. her song lingered in the air for a moment after it had stopped, a whisper among the rustling branches.

when she heard the telltale snap of a twig beneath a boot, she didn’t flinch. her posture remained as still as the forest around her, though her eyes, cold and sharp, flickered briefly toward the sound.

"lord royce," she said, her voice as soft as the wind but carrying an edge to it, like a blade slipping through silk. she didn’t need to turn to know he was there before he spoke. he had that way of moving, too deliberate, too sure of himself to remain unnoticed.

she let a beat of silence settle between them, the only sound the dancing of leaves. finally, she spoke again, her words laced with a dry amusement.

“following me now, are you?” her tone was not sharp, just dry, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to find herself being trailed through the woods. “how... considerate."

her lips barely curled into something that might have been a smile, though it was gone just as quickly as it appeared. "if you'd wanted to join in, you could’ve at least waited for the second verse,” she added, her voice dipping back into its usual quiet steadiness.

her gaze shifted slowly to him then, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. “not often that someone shares their secrets so easily, you know. you should be careful.”

[mountainvroyce]

.

axell barely flinched at the first strike, though the sting of her rings biting into his skin sent a slow, burning heat across his cheek. the second blow came just as sharp, and this time, he exhaled something close to a chuckle, low and breathless. the sharp taste of copper bloomed on his tongue, but he made no move to wipe away the faint trace of blood at the corner of his mouth. no, he only looked at her, his smirk edged with something darker.

she had not moved from his lap.

his hands remained firm at her waist, his fingers twitching slightly, restraining the instinct to grip tighter, to remind her that he was still the stronger of the two. of how easily he could take if he chose. but that was not the game between them. no, their game had always been one of push and pull, of power traded like a blade between them, never quite knowing who held the sharpest edge.

instead, he let her move as she pleased, spreading herself over his knee, pressing herself against him with purpose, with intention. his breath hitched, only slightly, and she would hear it, would savor it, would know how easily she could unravel him. and yet, even as she tested the strength of his resolve, it was hers that intrigued him more. the way her nails had gripped on along his collar. with everything he had been through the sharpness of her nails felt like nothing.

her words slithered against his skin like a serpent winding itself around prey. jasper. arron. she spoke of blood and whispers, of names that did not deserve to be spoken in her presence, names he would see erased if she willed it. his jaw clenched as her fingers traced over the red mark on his cheek, as if soothing the wound she had left, as if laying claim to him in a way no other could. no one else would dare mark him and stay with him. it’s what made her different. made her important. she shifted in his lap once more, her hand on the back of his neck. his own gripped her waist tighter, suddenly not caring if he left bruises on his brothers wife.

he tilted his head slightly, his lips grazing the inside of her wrist as he spoke, his voice rough but steady. “you already know my answer.” a pause, deliberate, measured, before he let the full weight of his words settle between them. “you need only ask, and it will be done.” the web have been weaved around him. he was caught in it and he did not care. he had let her weave her web. he wanted it.

a promise. a declaration. a sentence.

he had always been hers, though perhaps never more so than now, with her hands at his throat and her command at his ear.

“i will hunt them both down in their cozy westerland homes. i will dash the baby on the rocks in front of his mother if you wishes. i would cut down the prince if would make you happy” he said, pulling her closer to him. clear he had no intention to let her go so easily. one hand moving from her waist to take her chin, making sure she was looking at him as he spoke again. “do you doubt me? tell me now if you have a inkling of doubt i would not kill for you”

♟

ravella arryn’s palm connected with axell’s cheek with a resounding crack, her rings biting into his skin and leaving a faint line of red in their wake, the blow echoing across the room. she saw a flash of something cross his orbs, and for a moment she found herself noticing how similar his eyes were to his brothers, before she landed another crack of a strike across his face. the blow wasn’t born of anger—it was deliberate, calculated, done of enjoyment. “do not presume to take liberties with me.” she said, her voice low and edged with frost. still, she made no effort to rise from his lap.

"do you know what ancient bloodline you put your hands upon?" instead, she adjusted herself, spreading her thighs on either side of his knee and leaning forward until her breath ghosted against his jaw.

“you are a man of action.” her voice softened, becoming almost a purr. her hands slid around his neck, her nails tracing the edge of his collar as though testing the strength of his resolve. “always so eager to prove it. i wonder, axell, what you wouldn’t do for me.” she shifted closer, the neckline of her dress dipping low enough to draw the eye, though she denied him the satisfaction of meeting his gaze. instead, she let her lips curl into a faint, knowing smile as she met his gaze now, her hand moving downward to the red mark on his face, her touch lingering.

“if i asked you to kill jasper,” she began, her words slow and deliberate, “would you hesitate? even for a moment, if i told you his existence was a threat to everything we have built?” there was a specific reason for the choice in her wording; a resounding call to what she had once been the only one to know.

her fingers tightened slightly at the nape of his neck, a reminder of the hold she had over him, her fingers tracing lightly a moment later. it were as though she herself did not know how to touch on him, and yet she shifted further upward, letting him settle himself beneath her. “rowan’s bastard,” she hissed in his ear, the venom in her tone palpable, and yet her hand slithered where it should not have. her husband's brother had her spread out upon his lap, and she felt him against her. “if others will not believe me when i name him illegitimate, if they whisper of his claim as though it holds any weight, i will not have it. and neither will you.” she paused, letting the weight of her words settle between them.

“arron lannister will stand in my way.” she tilted her head, her gaze sharp and searching, as though she were looking right through his soul. she was looking for no soul. “would you silence him for me? would you defy casterly rock and its golden throne, if i asked it of you?” ravella leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear, though she denied him even the faintest touch of a kiss. “you say you are mine, axell. prove it. not with whispered confessions or stolen touches, but with blood.” she pulled back just enough to look at him, her expression one of icy command. “tell me you'll answer to my call should it come."

[mountainvroyce]

.

axell chuckled, a deep, gravelly sound that rumbled low in his chest. the response was expected—amir always bit back, always had something to say, even if it was laced with irritation. that was what made this so fun.

“you wound me, manderly,” axell drawled, swirling the wine in his goblet as he finally took a slow sip. his eyes never left amir, watching, assessing. axell always thought he had always been quick to temper, easy to rile up. “no warm welcome? no gratitude for an old comrade-in-arms? i thought you northern men were supposed to have manners.”

he took a step closer, deliberately crowding amir’s space, smirk still firmly in place. “but i’ll admit, you’re right about one thing. you don’t look like a drunk woman—drunk women usually know how to have a good time.” his smirk widened, sharp as a blade. “you, on the other hand, always look like you’re bracing for someone to kick you in the teeth.” he tilted his head slightly. “is that just your natural state, or did i ruin you that badly?”

axell let the words linger, watching his face for any reaction at all. a slow satisfaction unfurled in his chest. he had spent too many years making sure amir manderly knew exactly where axell believed he stood—beneath him.

at amir’s final words, axell exhaled a short laugh, tipping his goblet slightly in mock salute. “girls?” he echoed, feigning confusion. “i didn’t realize you kept track of my interests. that’s cute.” he leaned in, voice dropping low enough that only amir could hear. “but if you’re worried i’ll be sniffing around someone you care about, you should say it plainly.”

location: flashback thread to the start of the celebrations in the westerlands. context: axell and amir knew each other back during the dance. axell made it his personal mission to make life as miserable as possible for amir after what axell deemed a "slight" against him

@amirofmanderlys

the golden light of the westerlands’ great hall reflected off polished armor and gilded tapestries, the air thick with the clamor of celebration. lords and ladies moved like pawns across a chessboard, exchanging pleasantries and thinly veiled insults as they toasted to the lannisters’ newest prince. axell royce stood near the edge of the gathering, his imposing frame casting a long shadow against the opulent walls. his jaw tightened as his gaze fell on a familiar figure among the crowd.

amir manderly.

axell’s lips curled into a smirk, sharp and humorless, as he began weaving through the throng. his boots echoed on the stone floor, the heavy tread purposeful, until he stood behind amir. he waited a moment, long enough to let the other man feel his presence before speaking.

“well, well,” axell began, his gravelly voice cutting through the hum of the hall. “lord amir manderly, enjoying the lannisters’ hospitality, are we?” his tone was laced with mockery, the words almost drowned out by the music and laughter surrounding them. “i wouldn’t have expected to see you here. doesn’t your lot like to gather just all by themselves? i hear that’s true more often than not.”

he stepped closer, his size towering over amir as he leaned in slightly, voice dropping low enough for only the two of them to hear. “though i suppose i should give you credit. it takes a certain... resolve to walk into a den of lions unarmed.” his smirk deepened, his eyes cold. “but then, you’ve always had a peculiar way of choosing your battles, haven’t you?”

axell straightened, lifting a goblet from a passing servant’s tray without breaking eye contact. he raised it slightly in mock salute. “here’s to seeing old friends,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “and the bonds forged in fire.”

[mountainvroyce]

.

axell’s smirk deepened, a glint of amusement flickering in his dark eyes as he watched her, taking in the way she held herself. proud. guarded. she wanted to keep him at a distance, but that only made him want to push further.

his gaze flickered over the silver rings on her fingers, the way the deep red wine glistened against the candlelight as she raised the goblet to her lips. he could almost hear the others irritation in his mind, the way the manderly lord would seethe if he saw them speaking. that thought alone made this moment all the more enjoyable.

he exhaled a quiet chuckle, rolling his shoulders in a mockery of nonchalance. “cut from the same cloth, are you?” he mused, tilting his head slightly. “then tell me, lady naija, do you carry their burdens as well? their grudges? their tempers?” his voice was smooth, edged with something unreadable, though his words dripped with challenge. “would be a pity in a lady as… beautiful as yourself”

he shifted his stance slightly, as if appraising her anew. “you ask what makes you different.” a pause, deliberate. “simple. you actually interest me.” he let the statement hang for a beat, savoring the reaction it might pull from her before continuing. “your brothers? predictable. men so easy to provoke it’s almost a bore. but you?” he lifted his goblet to his lips, taking a slow sip before lowering it again. “i think there’s more to you than the dutiful sister, the loyal daughter.”

axell leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make the moment feel more intimate, though his smirk remained firmly in place. “and i like knowing things others don’t.” he let the words settle, watching her carefully, curious to see whether she would deflect or lean into the game. either way, he was already enjoying himself.

myriad of voices clashing and melding are slowly becoming a source of contention for the northern lady. she doesn't enjoy the west as much as those buzzing around her, though the opposite would surely be spoken to save face. theres something hanging in the air when foot meets lannister soil that causes a relaxed spine to become rigid as the rules set in place by their king. she's on edge and the unfamiliar voice that draws attention once fixed on an intricate tapestry is an unwelcomed addition to her discomfort.

"lord royce." dip of pinned coils is the only formality she gives him. his features may escape her at the moment, but comments on his stature are cemented into the parts of her mind where irritation makes home. amirs descriptions of the man, though negative and exaggerated in his ire, were aligned enough for her to know who had come to interrupt her rouse of social interaction. ​"and it seems you have a habit of singling us out instead of confronting the pack. is there a particular reason for that?" doesnt bother to meet what she assumes to be a smug gaze, not until a goblet of deep red liquid rests between fingertips adorned in sparkling silver rings. only then do the matching set of hues reunite. his are different though. theres something lacking within them, even now as charm snakes its way around his taunting words.

"make no mistake, lord royce. i am cut from the same cloth as my brothers." leaves little room to question the pointed statement, yet she's sure someone with his reputation could find a way. "but i am interested to know what it is about me you find so different aside from the obvious?" arms fold defensively, dominant hand rising to allow the lady a sip as she awaits an answer shes not sure she even wants to hear.

[mountainvroyce]

.

axell chuckled lowly, the sound rough like gravel beneath a boot. “curiosity,” he repeated, taking the roll back from her fingers with an ease that spoke of familiarity like they have done this more times than he could count. “that’s a dangerous thing, cousin.” he took another drag, the ember burning bright for a moment before he exhaled, smoke curling between them like an unspoken challenge. “you should know by now, i don’t give answers easily.”

his dark eyes flicked over her, assessing. there was no doubt she had potential—more than most of the noble ladies who wasted their days gossiping and preening. but potential without direction was a blade left to rust. and axell had never been one to let something useful go dull.

shifting his weight, he glanced around the courtyard before leaning in just slightly, voice dropping lower. “you’re right about one thing. i do keep people guessing.” he flicked ash from the roll, eyes never leaving hers. “but i wouldn’t want you to think i do it without purpose. better to keep them guessing at times i don’t like to be predictable for many reasons”

he straightened then, rolling his shoulders. “so tell me, ginny. have you been entertaining yourself while i’ve been away, or have you been waiting for me to return and make life more interesting?” his smirk deepened handing the roll back over to her.

Ginny caught the faintest trace of humor in Axell’s tone, her sharp eyes noticing the telltale twitch of his mouth even if others wouldn’t dare assume softness in him. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of asking for every move,” she replied with a delicate shrug, her words laced with an air of mock nonchalance. “Just the important ones. Such as your arrival.” Her tone was measured, but her gaze lingered on him with undeniable warmth, a quiet reassurance that she was not easily cowed by his gruffness.

When he held the roll out to her, her expression didn’t falter, though her eyes briefly flicked to the courtyard’s periphery. No one seemed close enough to notice. She plucked the roll from his fingers, her movements effortless, almost casual. Rolling it between her fingers, she waited a few beats, long enough to appear unaffected, before raising it to her lips for a quick drag, the faintest curl of smoke exhaled as she turned her head away.

“What’s got me in a tizzy?” she echoed, feigning indignation as she returned the roll to him. Her smirk deepened. “Merely excitement to see my favorite cousin. It’s hardly an everyday occurrence, after all.” Her voice softened, though the edge of wit remained. “And perhaps curiosity. You do have a way of keeping people guessing, Axell.”

[mountainvroyce]

closed starter for: @daceystvrk setting: flashback to the westerlands gathering before the north left early. axell's wife has been missing for a few months now and word has only just begun to be spread to the other kingdoms

the air near the stables smelled of sweet hay and horses, a sharp contrast to the perfume-soaked halls of casterly rock. the celebration roared on inside, but out here, it was quieter, save for the occasional distant echo of laughter and music filtering through the stone corridors. axell royce had never been a man for grand feasts and courtly pretense, not when there were more important matters to tend to. and tonight, his focus had shifted to one particular matter—princess dacey stark.

she was a rare sight outside of winterfell, and even rarer to find alone. meek, quiet, unassuming in his eyes. the kind of woman who did not draw attention to herself, who moved like a whisper rather than a storm. axell liked that. he had seen too many women with sharp tongues and wandering gazes, women who brought trouble.like his late wife. maybe it was time for a change. he did not want trouble. he wanted control. and a stark princess, tied to the great north, bound to him by name and duty—well, that was an opportunity worth taking.

he stepped forward, boots crunching lightly against the gravel, making his presence known. “princess.” his deep voice cut through the cool air, smooth but edged with something heavier. he inclined his head slightly, the closest thing to a proper greeting he would offer. “didn’t think i’d find a stark hiding out here among the horses. tired of all the pomp and spectacle inside?”

he leaned casually against the stable door, his imposingly large frame filling the space. his dark eyes studied her carefully, weighing her reaction. “can’t say i blame you. there’s little worth entertaining in a hall full of peacocks.” a pause, calculated. “though, i must admit, i didn’t expect to find you here alone.” he let the words hang, inviting her to speak, to give him something—anything—to work with.

[mountainvroyce]

location: late afternoon in the woods near the eyrie, after lillith has snuck out to sing. axell has followed her into the woods.

@paradoxofpresence

the woods were quieter than he expected that afternoon, save for the rustling of leaves and the distant cries of bird and creatures. axell royce moved through the shadows with practiced ease, his heavy boots softened by the damp earth beneath them. he had been following her for a while now, keeping a careful distance, ensuring no one else had taken notice of her wandering. it was reckless, foolish even, for a lady to venture out alone—especially this close to the mountains, where dangers lurked beyond just beasts. but he supposed that was what intrigued him about her.

and then, she sang.

the melody carried through the trees, soft yet haunting in the way it wove through the air. he had heard whispers of it before—talk of the waynwood girl with a haunting beautiful voice. but hearing it for himself was different. to some it probably would set them at unease but he did not seem to mind. she could sing, if she wanted. didn’t matter to him. women did strange things to occupy their time. so for a brief moment, he merely listened, allowing himself that small indulgence.

then, he stepped forward, letting the crunch of a twig underfoot announce his presence.

“you sing beautifully songbird,” he murmured, the deep timbre of his voice cutting through the air like steel through silk. he emerged from the trees, his tall broad frame casting a long shadow in the sunlight. his tone softer than most would expect from him. “but tell me, my lady, do you always wander the woods alone at night? or is today a special occasion?” he let the question hang, studying her carefully, his expression a carefully crafted blend of intrigue and amusement. he would not come on too strong. not yet.

[mountainvroyce]

; ; w h i s p e r e d r u m o r s

the cramped tavern was alive with the murmur of voices and the clink of mugs, the thick haze of pipe smoke curling like ghosts among the rafters. outside, the storm howled against the wooden shutters, rain lashing with a fury that felt almost unnatural. thunder rumbled low and ominous, as if the heavens themselves were unsettled. within, a man stood near the hearth, his sodden cloak dripping onto the worn wooden floor, forming small puddles that no one dared step into.

his hands trembled violently as he clutched a tankard of ale, his fingers slick and pale, knuckles white. his face was drawn and hollow, shadows pooling beneath his wide, bloodshot eyes. when he finally spoke, his voice was thick with the peculiar cadence of the vale, his words rolling off his tongue like a dark chant.

“’he’s one of ’em, i swear it,” he rasped, his voice barely rising above the storm’s wail outside. the tavern grew quieter as his words crawled into the ears of the gathered smallfolk. a few exchanged uneasy glances, but most turned to him with expressions of bemused dismissal. he leaned forward, droplets of rainwater slipping from his matted hair onto the table. “all the signs are there! the old stories, aye, you know ‘em well enough!”

the crowd stirred uncomfortably, some averting their eyes. but the man slammed his fist against the table, rattling the mugs atop it. “don’t look away! you listen! axell royce! he come back from the dead, he did. a year in the ground—a year!—an’ then he just walks back into runestone? that don’t happen! the people saw his body—i saw his body. he was stone cold, pale as milk. dead as winter.”

a chill seemed to ripple through the room despite the heat of the hearth. the man’s voice dropped, growing more frenzied and guttural, as if dredging up horrors he could barely contain. “but he ain’t the same. taller now, stronger, vicious. they say he’s got somethin’ unnatural ‘bout him, aye. charms the girls, he does—girls who ain’t never seen again. two from the village near gulltown, just… vanished.”

his tankard rattled as he set it down, unable to steady his shaking hand. his breath hitched, and his voice broke as he spoke the next words. “my jocelyn… my sweet jocelyn… she’s gone. an’ i know—i know it’s him! that bastard ain’t no man. he’s what the old stories warned us of, the monsters we thought were just tales told to scare children.”

the storm seemed to crescendo outside as the man stood, his gaunt figure framed by the flickering light of the fire. his voice rose, each word dripping with dread and conviction. “we know the legends, passed down from our grandfathers and theirs before. but when it’s standin’ right in front of us, we shut our eyes! well, no more. mark my words, axell royce is a vampire.”

-

rumors have begun to spread amongst the small folk that axell royce is a vampire or some darker force that is praying upon the smallfolk. though now this rumor has begun to reach the ears of the nobility. some pass it off as a foolish tale, other who are more religious or believe in the supernatural stories of the vale have given the younger royce some distance now. axell has been seen laughing at the claims, though some note he has not denied it.

[mountainvroyce]

location: during the westerlands event, after his confrontation with amir manderly, axell is looking for more trouble to cause

@naaijas

the glow of golden candlelight spilled across the hall, casting fleeting shadows over the laughing faces of nobles and the clinking of goblets. axell royce stood near one of the towering stone columns, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd. hundreds of people moving around enjoying each others company the ghost of runestone’s eyes were set only on one person.

she moved with grace, her presence understated but unmistakable. axell watched her for a long moment, his expression unreadable and calm but his thoughts anything but. naija manderly. he knew of her well enough but never had any reason to speak with her. she was pleasant to look at but not exactly his taste. but he could be persuaded if must. he knew he shouldn’t speak with her. he knew approaching her would draw ire—especially from her brothers. but wasn’t that the point? the thought alone sent a flicker of excitement through him. how could he pass up such a delectable thought?

with deliberate slowness, he pushed off the column and wove his way through the throng of revelers, boots striking a measured rhythm on the stone floor. he approached from the side, his towering frame casting a shadow over her as he reached her. “lady naija,” he greeted, his gravelly voice low but unmistakably smooth. the faintest hint of a smirk curled at his lips as he inclined his head, though his posture radiated confidence rather than deference. “it seems the manderly family is out in full force tonight. i’ve already spotted your brothers lurking about, looking like wolves in the wrong forest.”

he let the words linger, knowing the implications wouldn’t be lost on her. “but you,” he continued, his eyes flicking over her with an assessing, almost predatory edge. “you don’t seem the lurking type. no, you seem… different.”

[mountainvroyce]

location: flashback thread to the start of the celebrations in the westerlands. context: axell and amir knew each other back during the dance. axell made it his personal mission to make life as miserable as possible for amir after what axell deemed a "slight" against him

@amirofmanderlys

the golden light of the westerlands’ great hall reflected off polished armor and gilded tapestries, the air thick with the clamor of celebration. lords and ladies moved like pawns across a chessboard, exchanging pleasantries and thinly veiled insults as they toasted to the lannisters’ newest prince. axell royce stood near the edge of the gathering, his imposing frame casting a long shadow against the opulent walls. his jaw tightened as his gaze fell on a familiar figure among the crowd.

amir manderly.

axell’s lips curled into a smirk, sharp and humorless, as he began weaving through the throng. his boots echoed on the stone floor, the heavy tread purposeful, until he stood behind amir. he waited a moment, long enough to let the other man feel his presence before speaking.

“well, well,” axell began, his gravelly voice cutting through the hum of the hall. “lord amir manderly, enjoying the lannisters’ hospitality, are we?” his tone was laced with mockery, the words almost drowned out by the music and laughter surrounding them. “i wouldn’t have expected to see you here. doesn’t your lot like to gather just all by themselves? i hear that’s true more often than not.”

he stepped closer, his size towering over amir as he leaned in slightly, voice dropping low enough for only the two of them to hear. “though i suppose i should give you credit. it takes a certain... resolve to walk into a den of lions unarmed.” his smirk deepened, his eyes cold. “but then, you’ve always had a peculiar way of choosing your battles, haven’t you?”

axell straightened, lifting a goblet from a passing servant’s tray without breaking eye contact. he raised it slightly in mock salute. “here’s to seeing old friends,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “and the bonds forged in fire.”

[mountainvroyce]

.

axell smirked, a sharp, humorless twist of his lips as his gaze flicked to her. “didn’t think you were the kind of woman who needed flowery words or knightly nonsense,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “i’m afraid i’d be terrible at that, anyway. most of those men are all talk and no action.” he didn’t need to elaborate on his willingness to act. she had seen it herself, time and again. wars, battles, mountain men—axell royce never hesitated. never faltered.

“you’ve never asked me to do something i wouldn’t have done on my own,” he continued, his tone quieter but no less intense. “and my loyalty doesn’t waver. not for you.”

the ghost of runestone was a man who enjoyed the indulgences of life. some typical some not so typical. he never found himself reaching for the bottle like so many other soldiers did to try to block out the memories of war. try to pretend like they didnt exsist. to quiet the beast inside of them that thirsted for battle once more or those that were to scared to face it again. that was not axell royce.where others sought peace, he sought destruction. no he indulged in the battles. in the violence. in the chaos. he liked it. he always had.

his other indulgence was pleasure.

pleasure in many forms. the pleasure in defeating a foe in battle. of driving his sword through them, cutting off any future they might have dreamed for themselves. but also pleasure in people. women, men. he didnt care. he never had. he could go just about anywhere and find it. someone selling themselves for a few coins. or a naive barmaid somewhere. a noblewomen who was bored in her marriage. they were easy. but ravella arryn was harder. much harder.

since he was a boy he had watched her, observed her. wished and wanted. they grew older and it seemed like she was destined for her brother. time and time again. they would pull apart and fate would dangle the possibility of her once again in front of him only for it to be taken away. she was married now. it should mean she was forever just a fleeting wish.

so then why did she lean to him? why wear the dresses she did? why brush her hair back from her chest? why brush against his leg? why smile? why do any of this? he could see the moment of hesitation on her face. the thought that crossed her face. he was happy to make the decision for the both of them

like a viper axell reached out for her. the small control he thought he could maintain was one. it reached around her wrist, pulling her down into his lap. he could no longer handle the teasing. his grip was tight around her, not to harm but to convey the depth of his feeling, his obsession. his voice was low, rumbling like distant thunder as he spoke. “the truth? you want it?” he leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear. “fine. but there’s no going back once you have it.” his eyes searched her for what she wanted. what she really wanted from him. or was it to continue to tease him like this. he had said he was a man of action. if he had to prove that again then fine he would.

his hands slid down to her waist, almost encircling the entirety of it as he pulled her closer.his lips brushed the curve of her jaw, his words a whispered confession. “the truth… i killed her.” his voice was steady, unflinching. “i killed her because she wasn’t you.”

♟

ravella arryn moved with the deliberate grace of a black panther, a predator, every step echoing softly on the stone floor as she approached axell. her black velvet dress trailed behind her like a shadow, the neckline revealing just enough of her pale skin and the swell of her corset to command attention without needing to ask for it. raven curls that had been on either side of her shoulders seemed to have now slipped behind her ears to tumble down her back.

she had realised as a girl how to wield her beauty like a weapon;how she had persuaded that salesboy to allow her the apple without any coin. how she had gotten his head caved in for looking at her, when she wanted to be looked at. it were sharper than any blade; and axell royce was a man who bled far too easily. “always,” she echoed his words, her voice low, though there was a faint undercurrent of mockery in the way she said it. “such a small word for such boundless devotion. it’s almost poetic.”

she stopped just short of him, standing close enough that he would have to tilt his head to meet her eyes. but she didn’t let him; instead, she leaned in slightly, her hands clasped delicately in front of her, her lips curving into a faint, enigmatic smile. “axell,” she said, her tone quiet but piercing. the choice of using his name; no doubt he had thought about her saying his name, in more ways than one. “does your loyalty ever tire? does it ever bend under the weight of what i ask of you?” she tilted her head, studying him as one might study a trapped animal.

there was no softness in her gaze, only the cold calculation of someone who enjoyed twisting the knife just enough to keep things interesting. “especially now...your wife,” she continued, her voice dropping lower, more intimate. “what a curious little mystery her absence is. i hear whispers, of course. people are so fond of them, aren’t they? whispers that blame the winds, the mountains, the forest… or perhaps, something—or someone—much closer to home.” ravella’s fingers traced the edge of the desk beside him, her nails clicking softly against the wood.

she straightened, and her smile disappeared, leaving behind an expression so void of emotion it felt like staring into an abyss. she let the silence stretch between them, taut and heavy, before speaking again. “the truth.” the words hung in the air, stark and simple, yet charged with an unspoken weight that only she could summon. she moved closer still, her dress brushing his knees, her perfume—a dark, heady scent—wrapping around him like a noose. she did not even expand on it.

and she fought the urge to allow herself to sit on his knee, though he could no doubt see it on her face. the dangers of lust were not unknown to ravella arryn, yet for all her coldness, she was a fool for it. rare it was, to deny herself anything. or anyone.

[mountainvroyce]

.

the rain hammered down on the courtyard, turning stone to slick shadow and pooling in shallow rivulets at their feet. axell moved like a predator, his strikes powerful and deliberate, forcing graham to counter with a precision honed over years. graham's skill with the blade was undeniable and so was axell. the sharp clang of steel against steel echoed through the storm, the sound cutting through the sheets of water as if it were a language only they understood. despite the ferocity of their blows, neither pushed too far. they knew each other’s movements too well, a dance rehearsed since childhood—but this time, the stakes felt heavier, like a storm brewing beneath the surface of their sparring.

“dragging our name into whispers?” axell laughed. “it has never left the whispers. it’s always there” axell rolled his eyes. he raised his sword pointing it towards him. “you’re just lucky people tend to focus on what i do rather than what you do. you should be thanking me for taking the heat off of you” he smirked, perhaps just wanting to get a rise out of him.

the ghost of runestone rolled his shoulders as the rain streamed down his face, slicking his hair to his scalp. the sting of graham’s blade against his own vibrated up his arm, but it didn’t bother him. it never had. he smirked, just as his brother had accused, even as his muscles tensed beneath the force of the locked blades.

“and my wife?” he snorted. “let’s not pretend she was anything other than what she was. a convenience. a match made on parchment, i married here because you and ravella wanted me to. said she would be a good match yet she spoke to lords from other kingdoms as if she wasn’t wearing our name. if she ran, good riddance. if she was taken, then let someone else grieve her.” he sneered as he broke the lock between them.

axell lunged, steel crashing against graham’s sword in a calculated strike that forced their blades to lock once again. this time, he leaned in, close enough for his words to only be heard by him. “you think i’m unaffected?” his voice dropped, laced with venom. “maybe because i learned something long before you did. grief is a weakness, graham. and i can’t afford to be weak. would you like me to weep for her like a baby? to fling myself out the fucking moon door?” he laughed. “i am dealing with this my way. if she is out there my men will find her.”

he shoved hard, breaking the lock and stepping back, pointing his blade at graham’s chest. “so ask yourself, brother. what’s really bothering you? is it her disappearance—or….what? you think i did it. say it. come on i know you fucking want to. you think i killed her.”

who: @mountainvroyce when and where: the training yard for the inner keep at the gates of the moon context: the royce brothers being the royce brothers

the rain came down in sheets, a cold curtain that blurred the edges of the world. graham tightened his grip on his sword, his knuckles pale beneath the soaked leather of his gloves. each strike, each parry, felt heavier than it should, not because of the weight of the blade, but because of the weight of the thoughts clawing at him. axell’s face, his smirk, his calm—it was unbearable. infuriating. because somewhere within the features of his younger brother, there was a reflection. as though staring into a devoid, soulless pit of the blackest waters.

"why is it," graham asked flatly, his voice cutting through the rain like a blade. he struck with measured force, his movements sharp and deliberate, though only to find his brother was able to leap from the blow of the sword. "you have dragged our name into suspicion and whispers. again." there came the resounding blow of steel upon steel at his final word, a word which was stressed with emphasis and anger; and despite the clang of steel and the appearance of two knights of the vale seemingly ready to decapitate one another, they walked that thin line perfectly.

for this was how those of runestone had been raised, when they had issue with one another. pick up one's blade, and settle it in the courtyard.

the clash of steel rang out, and graham held the lock of their blades longer than necessary, studying his brother’s face. axell’s calm demeanor was unreadable as always, but to graham, it only confirmed what he’d already begun to suspect. "your wife," graham said, the words heavy with quiet disdain. "gone. vanished without a trace. and yet, you stand here, unaffected. no grief. no urgency. not even the pretense of concern. with that smug look on your damned face." he stepped back, raising his sword into a defensive stance. his gaze didn’t waver, fixed on axell with a cold, judging intensity.

there came the sound of whipping wind, which would have covered the voice of the king consort in this particular, specific moment. and he said it. "what, did you do?"

[mountainvroyce]

.

axell royce’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening as mariela spoke. whispers. he despised that word, and he despised it even more coming from her. the mistress of whispers. the title itself grated on him now, though he would never show it. instead, he leaned back in his chair, exuding the calm of a predator lying in wait, though his massive frame dwarfed the delicate furnishings, making his every movement feel deliberate, calculated.

“she was always a bit of trouble. maybe an inconvenience. i didn’t exactly pick her for my wife.” he said bluntly, voice low and gravelly like distant thunder. “you call it a marriage—i call it a contract. and contracts are only worth something if both parties honor them.” his lips twitched in what might have been a smirk, though it lacked any warmth. “if there are whispers, mariela, then i suggest you listen closer. you might hear the truth between the lies. we were not in love but i honored my side of the contract with her. including the parts of keeping her safe, taking her into my family.”

he shifted forward slightly, forearms resting on his thighs as he fixed her with a cold, steady stare. “lords always talk. you know this better than anyone. if they spoke to her, i’d wager it wasn’t about anything of consequence. she had no power. no alliances worth noting. just empty charm and a penchant for making herself the center of attention.”

his tone turned darker, the faintest growl slipping through. “if she’s disappeared, then let it be so. i’ve no interest in chasing a ghost. perhaps she ran. perhaps someone took her. does it matter? she’s gone, and the vale has more pressing concerns than the whims of one insignificant woman.” he let out a sigh, the darkness leaving his face as he relaxed back into the chair. "i saw her speaking to many northern lords. i heard talks she was speaking with the manderly lord. the important one."

the mistress of whispers sat across from axell royce, her eyes cool and calculating as she listened to the man before her. the room around them in the eyrie was quiet, the only sound the occasional gust of wind brushing against the high windows mixed with the crackling of a warm hearth. the stone walls seemed to absorb every word, every breath, as if the castle itself was holding its breath. the flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the table, giving the already tense atmosphere a darker edge.

she studied him carefully. axell royce was a man of contradictions—proud yet dismissive, powerful yet elusive. his presence was intimidating, his broad shoulders and hardened face betraying little of the turmoil that churned inside him. but she could sense it, the simmering rage that seemed to pulse just beneath the surface of his words. he was a dark horse, unpredictable, and mariela knew she would need to tread carefully.

leaning back in her chair, she folded her hands in her lap, her gaze never leaving him. “you speak of her disappearance as if it were an inconvenience,” she said, her voice calm but edged with curiosity. “yet, surely, the fate of your wife must be more than a passing thought. you claim not to have spent much time together, but there are whispers, lord royce. whispers that perhaps the end of your marriage was… less than peaceful.”

she let the words hang in the air, allowing him the space to react. she wasn’t sure if he would rise to the bait, but she was certain that, like all men of his caliber, he would reveal something if only she pushed the right way. "and the lords she spoke to…" mariela's eyes narrowed slightly. "what business did they have with her? was it merely idle conversation, or were there matters of more consequence at hand?"

she could sense his impatience, but mariela remained unmoved, calm in her stillness. she was used to men like him—men who buried their secrets beneath layers of indifference and fire. the question was whether his walls would hold or crack under her scrutiny. only time would tell. "if you have a name for me, i will certainly delve further in that direction." it were a hint, a hint that whatever transpired with his wife, she would find another direction to send eyes and ears to.

[mountainvroyce]

.

axell royce strode through the courtyard, relishing a rare free day from his duties as lord commander. though not fully armored, he still towered over most who passed him, knights included. his presence alone commanded attention, but he gave none in return, barely sparing a glance at the pages and servants bustling to carry his belongings to his chambers.

he had just lit a roll, bringing it lazily to his lips, when his cousin hurried into the courtyard. he stopped walking and he glanced at her, exhaling a plume of smoke. “i wasn’t aware i needed to keep my baby cousin informed of my every move,” he said, his tone cool and flat. to most, his words might have seemed cutting, but the faint twitch of his mouth betrayed the tease beneath them that only few including ginny would recongize.

unbothered by her presence, he took another drag before casually holding the roll out to her, a silent offer and promise of discretion. the gesture was improper, of course—smoking in front of a lady was hardly befitting of a lord—but axell rarely cared for propriety.

“what’s got you in a tizzy to find me?” he asked, the faintest hint of amusement in his gravelly voice as he studied her.

who: @mountainvroyce where: the eyrie

When she had gotten word of her cousin's arrival in the Eyrie, it had taken little thought to abandon her task at hand and set out to find Axell Royce. Ginny breezed down the halls, the courtyard a clear destination. Her excitement was overpowering to a point where she passed by nobles and servants alike without acknowledging them with so much as a smile.

She was out of breath by the time she sped down the steps to the courtyard, immediately zeroing in on the bustle around some horses. And then, the familiar, tall figure of Axell. "Cousin," she called out, trying to catch her breath. "I was unaware you were arriving today."

[mountainvroyce]

.

axell’s eyes followed her as she rose, the sharp scrape of the chair echoing in the room, a sound as precise as her every movement. she was marble and ice, an untouchable figure who always seemed to know exactly where to cut deepest. but he had seen what happens when that marble cracked. he had seen it as she ran through the forest of vale to escape. when he found her. his jaw tightened, but he remained silent, letting her words flow over him in the ancient tongue, a language he understood well enough, one that flowed from him easy enough. better to be safe in their own tongue when in a plce like this. it wasn’t lost on him that she had chosen it. it was never lost on him when she made her moves.

her subtle reminder of graham—“your brother”—pricked at his temper slightly, but it was her smile that truly ignited the embers in his chest. memorable. that was what she called him. was he were nothing more than a shadow lurking in the wake of greater figures, an unspoken threat people wished to forget but never could. the ghost of runestone.his lips twitched, half a smirk, half a grimace. he could not tell if her taunts were meant to wound or inspire, but they would always find a way to do both with him. “i’d wager most men prefer to be remembered fondly, but i’ll take what i can get. the dead don’t get to choose how they’re spoken of. they’re just spoken of.” his gaze locked with hers, unflinching.

the crazed dragon king. a man who burned thousands to the ground. a man who took the crown from his own kin. what sort of man was he to pass judgement on him? he hoped the black cells were barred for him yet. he needed to punch something. throttle. kill. he needed something

“they won’t talk,” he promised “if there’s a loose tongue wagging, it’ll be cut out before it spreads another word.” he was true to his word. he’d stop the rumors where they were at now. there was never any bluff in the promises he made to her. they both knew that. his gaze hardened, a glint of steel in his dark eyes as he took a step closer to her desk, closing the distance just enough to loom as he often did. though as he looked down at her there was no hint in him trying to intimidate her. there was no need for that. he had never needed to nor ever wanted to. “but i don’t need to remind you of that. you’ve always been good at ensuring people remember exactly what you want them to in your own way and i have mine. suppose they both get the job done.”

her praise of the king of the north was an irritation he couldn’t quite mask. “the north loves its heroes, loves their stubborn nobility. those heroes are just men who haven’t yet been caught in their sins. they all fall eventually.” his fingers flexed against his gloves again, the faint creak of leather filling the silence. “but at least the king is good for something i suppose”

axell’s eyes lingered on her face, searching for something, anything, in her cold marble expression. “tell me what you need of me, my queen. you know i’ll do whatever it takes to see your will done. always.”

the words were an oath, heavy and unwavering. axell royce was nothing if not a man of conviction, and for ravella, his loyalty knew no bounds. or was it more than that…more than loyalty. could he deny that it was her he thought of as his hands wrapped around his wife’s neck one last time? would it please her or just dismiss him more. whether she would wield him like a sword or let him rust in the scabbard mattered little—he was hers to command, even if it destroyed him. if they hadnt done that too each other already.

♟

there came the slight sound of her chair moving backward against the wooden floorboards, and like the flash of a shadow, she had risen from the chair behind the desk - her movements as rigid and marble-like as they always were, but her orbs of ice were almost cat-like as she looked upon him. "his majesty was particularly vocal in our support of the braavosi when they sent their parrot to an audience." she uttered, switching fluidly to the ancient tongue of the mountains of the moon.

why did she switch tongues? because the lyseni were valyrians, and they remained beneath the roof of a valyrian; her own kin remained shunned away in dragonstone like rats, whilst the green prince of brats all but stomped his way up the stone steps. their tongue was one which rolled, one where it were easy to hear the humming buzz that came around those stones.

the lyseni were superfluous in their nature, their fashion; one could have seen how it would go the moment the ambassador walked through the doors of the vale's main hall. "they wanted us to put our coffers into their treasury, and forgo any investments we have already made with the iron bank. there appears some issue across the sea that was not our issue until they made it so."

their lords all but bristled in disgust. it was all but doomed before it had even been attempted. "your brother remains steadfast in his decision, and me in mine." was it intentional, to subtly switch from referring to him as the king, to reminding him of the family ties? the sound of union, almost to try and see a reaction. like putting one's hand into the flames. to the threads that now crossed, to the knots in their lives? she felt them, saw them, as she walked the corridors. no matter which corridors.

he continued to speak, giving answers most men would give; that war was dangerous, and danger often caused anarchy. there were no laws. there was no safety. "jaehaerys targaryen has no need to fix rumours about honourable valemen. percival templeton once could have had his way with the queen of new valyria, and you…" she trailed off, and there it was. a sickening smile that crossed her lips, as though to tell him she knew. as though it were some joke, akin to a child sneaking biscuits in the middle of the night. how wrong it was to anyone who would have seen it.

"you remain memorable." the thought of him no doubt caused many a person to wish to end themselves in shame. she was curious, to consider how it felt to be that shadow. to be that lingering haunting. did he feel anything about it? her voice lowered now, and whilst she did not lean forward, she tilted her head ever so slightly. "they cannot talk, high commander." he needed to find ways to ensure they did not talk.

her voice remained in the same tone as she continued to speak. prodding again. curious. taunting, with a blank, marble face. "the king of the north… he impressed me. agreeing to take on our small problem, and we will receive payment for all but wiping our hands of it."

[mountainvroyce]

.

a deep, relentless rage simmered within axell royce, a fire that had been ignited long ago and never quite extinguished. he had felt it for as long as he could remember, perhaps born with it, or maybe it had been set ablaze on that storm-drenched night of his thirteenth name day, when he performed his duties at the standing stones of runestone. over the years, he’d learned to keep it under control, to let it simmer beneath the surface, always ready to boil over when needed like any good warriror. but it was always there, an ever-present, quiet fury.

since his return from the crownlands, that fury had been simmering close to the surface, threatening to explode. the "incest dragon king," as axell sneeringly referred to him, had somehow developed a conscience, and the mere thought made his blood burn. strangely, axell held no more anger for what happened with his wife. no, he had already taken his revenge. she was beneath the waves now, swallowed by the depths in some forgotten place, her life as insignificant as her death in his eyes. she had never even had the decency to give him a child before her end.

and now, he was forced to discuss her once again, a topic he had hoped to bury alongside her. he knew this conversation would come, surprised only that it hadn’t come sooner. he could attribute the delay to his wife’s poor standing among the nobles of the eyrie, hardly anyone missed her.

the ghost of runestone allowed himself a half-smile, though it didn’t fully reach his eyes. “the egens have always been kind to me since i was a boy. i consider them kin, as my brother does.” he said, his voice low and gravelly, like distant thunder. “tell young gabriel i will teach him to wield a sword one day. he will learn from the best in the vale." a king's cousin, destined for knighthood, surely, and who better to guide him than a royce?

axell shifted in the chair, his massive frame ill-fitted to the delicate furnishings. the chair creaked beneath his weight, but he seemed unmoved by it. he didn’t need the comfort of the chair; discomfort was nothing new to him.

“thank you for your concern about my wife.” he said curtly, as though wishing that would be the end of it. his tone was dismissive, the cold edge of a man who had no patience for grief. “i do not know what has become of her. my wife and i... did not spend much time together in the end. i found her to be... less than agreeable.” his mouth twisted into a faint, humorless smirk. “lately, she had begun speaking with lords from other kingdoms. i cannot say for certain if she left of her own volition or if something else has happened. but if she has truly disappeared, i wouldn’t be surprised.”

his words hung in the air, as heavy and dark as the storm that forever seemed to follow axell royce.

setting: the vale, upon their return from the westerlands, starter for @mountainvroyce

sapphire blue skirts glimmered in the setting sunlight that poured in from tall windows within the halls of the eyrie as mariela egen strolled towards her destination. much had run through the mind of the mistress of whispers lately, and while her trade did not always necessitate her taking action directly, there was a particular issue that piqued her interest. in the midst of tensions with lyseni, and scuffles to the south, the lady regent of moonhill knew better than to not simply look at the larger picture, but rather the small events that occurred, too. sooner or later, she found, things tended to connect.

this, however, she thought to be isolated, strange, but something on it's own. perhaps in that it is why she hadn't inquired sooner, but as she made her way to one of the larger seating rooms, and saw the large figure of axell royce sat upon a velvet seat near the hearth, she promptly took the chair across from him, a pleasant smile upon rubied lips. "good evening, lord royce." she stated, "i hope your journey back went as smoothly as ours. though, gabriel could not stop talking about the fighting in the arena." it were, perhaps, one of the times she wished her son's father was still here. mariela did not have much taste for discussing things, nor did she find it her place. it were a father's place to discuss battle and death with their sons, to teach them the severity of games versus war and battle.

she inhaled, shaking the thought away. "nonetheless, he also could not stop inquiring as to how his good cousin, lord royce got to be so tall, and what could he do to be a giant like him." there was a genuine, small laugh from her now as she shook her head. "i had to remind him that you were not of egen blood, but he views you kin all the same. he may be asking you directly of the matter, soon." legs crossed as she shifted in her seat, in her demeanor, a subtle cue that she were to speak of the matter she really intended to. "i'm truly sorry to hear of your lady wife's disappearance. i'm afraid i have heard nothing of it, strangely enough." strange, indeed, but she hadn't really inquired about it with anyone, either. "as i'm sure you understand, other matters have taken much of my attention, but i believe this is of great importance, too." she rolled her lips. "have you any clue of what happened?"

[mountainvroyce]

.

there was a look an animal had when it first spotted its prey—a flash of recognition in its eyes. each creature was different. lions, bears, hawks. but that moment of instinctual focus was universal. a predatory thrill mingling with the anticipation of their next meal or entertainment.

for axell royce, that look had settled onto his face as he zeroed in on his target.

a twisted joy curled at the edges of his lips, fueled by the excitement of the impending encounter. he couldn’t help himself. he never could. but seeing little norbie standing there now, looking just as pathetic as he had back in school, brought something raw to the surface. it was as if a dormant instinct had awakened inside him—the urge to crush whatever fragile happiness norbie had managed to build.

he had spotted norbie earlier, wandering around the reunion with his boyfriend and a small group of friends. the sight had stirred something in axell, something dark and spiteful, an inexplicable need to ruin what he saw. even if only for tonight.

axell's large frame loomed in front of norbie, blocking his path back to the door as he stepped in front of him—just like he used to do in school. but now, axell was bigger, more muscle-bound, with the harsh edges of his once-boyish cruelty now sharpened into something more dangerous. any trace of hesitation he might have had in the past had been eroded over time.

“no, no, stay, norbie,” axell drawled, the smirk on his face widening as he watched norbie’s feeble attempt to find an excuse to leave. he placed a heavy hand on norbie’s shoulder, squeezing just enough to remind him of the power imbalance. “we should catch up. what have you been up to?” he asked, his voice dripping with mock interest. “i saw you and your little boyfriend. so sweet that you two are still together after all this time,” he added, his tone laced with sarcasm. “i should catch up with luc. it’s been a minute since i’ve seen him.”

the implication in axell's words hung in the air like a threat, the smirk on his face never wavering as he watched norbie squirm under his gaze. the game had begun, and axell was relishing every moment of it.

somehow, norbie had found himself alone at the party. distracted by the sight of old friends, he had wandered away from lucerys' side to chat with people he hadn't seen in far too long, and now that he'd finished his conversation, luc was nowhere in sight. he hadn't seen minthara in a while, either, the one person who might have a clue where he was, and so norbie resolved to look for him himself.

he'd stepped outside of the room into the night air, the chill biting at his face. he'd wondered if luc had taken a step away from the party to catch his breath, but he wasn't out here either. he was just about to turn back inside, when the voice that called out to him sent a shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

he was fortunate to have had a fairly easy time at school, giving he came out as a teenager. it could have been worse. there was one notable exception to that, though - axell royce. norbie had quite forgotten the terror that axell used to strike in him, and was finding that even now, having not seen the man in years, that still rang true.

norbie took a deep breath, but couldn't find it in him to force a polite smile. not with axell. "oh, no. i was just... outside." he finished, lamely. "err, yes. yes it has." and for that, he was grateful. "thank you?" it sounded like a question, because it was. somehow, he didn't think it was a compliment. he glanced back at the door, somehow unwilling or unable to simply walk through it, and also willing someone else to step through it. unfortunately, nobody was. "it's cold out here, isn't it? brrr." he raised his arms goofily, miming shivering. "i should be getting back to the party."