"𝑊𝑜𝑙𝑓'𝑠 𝐵𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑑," their father always called it. Could make a man or woman wild in a sense, unpredictable, and powerful. And when a violet-eyed twin born to the Lord Eddard Stark, all knew that the boy would have it. And he did.
Beside his...
꧁~~~Benget Stark~~~꧂ ꧁~~~298 After Conquest~~~꧂ ❄❄❄
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꧁Even as the sun had begun to set a shortwhile before, the last remaining flecks of the fire of it's light reflects sharply on the wall of magic and ice. It was said it was erected after the Long Night, a night that was said to have lasted a generation. It was also said that his ancestor, Bran the Builder, built the Wall. Others might say that something or someone else built it. But for what exactly? To act as a shield to guard the realms of men against what? Questions like that have always racked Benget Stark's mind, plaguing him, even when his uncle tried explaining things to him and Jon throughout their lives.
But Ben was always convinced less so that Jon ever was. And that naivete is something that does not sit well with Benget Stark one bit. He had been taught and has taught himself to competent to step up in any given situation, but following ahead into something blindly is something that he hates. But love for a brother takes control over sense in the situation Ben has found himself in.
As Oberyn Martell himself once said to Ben during his time in Sunspear, "You piss with the cock you are given, not the one you wish you had."
Both Jon and Ben's eyes stay almost glued to the Wall, staring at its horrifying beauty. To think that someone took the time out of their day to build such a wonder. Seven-hundred feet hight, spanning from the Bay of Seals to the Bay of Ice, from one side of Westeros to the other, as far north as the North goes, the Wall stands in an unsettling mastery. And the men manning such a wonder will fall short of what Jon had dreamed of. He can already see the disappointment on his brother's face.
"We have to get going. Stare at it for too long and you might get stuck there."
Their Uncle Benjen warns with a brief smile, before his face returns to cold and solid, unrevealing of any emotions as Benget takes note of that in his mind for a second before tapping the sides of his horse from the saddle's stirrups, moving along down the last stretch of the Kingsroad.
Ironic, Ben casually thinks to himself. The Kingsroad, yet we are in a land a King cannot hold.
Of course though, there had been the balled of the Night's King, that former Lord Commander of the Night's Watch that the gods seem to have forgotten about since. But in it's prime, thousands of men had once served upon the beast of burden before Ben and company, but Ben had known since he had stepped foot from Winterfell, that the road ahead of his, both physically and physiologically would be the hardest road he's had to travel yet, and there would not be thousands of strong, brave men to act as shields to guard the realms of men.
