Game of Thrones: A Tale of a Coward

The End - All II

(*Androw*)

While they took each careful step nearer to Rosemary and farther from the massacre that had recently ensued, Androw wondered how exactly the story of Luciara's passing should be told to Rosemary. He was not quite prepared for her unequivocally distraught response, likewise he was neither prepared to tell the tale of their coward.

Androw led their minute party of four solo; Kyra tended to the twins, whilst he was left to be alone. 'If this is all a dream, then it let it end now,' Androw thought to himself; he had suffered enough, he knew. And he wished not to spread this suffering unto others with the news of which he were to report.

The trees became fewer in number the farther they went from the corpses and crows. They were getting closer, all of them knew, albeit remained silent. This silence made Androw uncomfortable; not a day ago were there the hundreds of raucous screams of dying men surrounding him, blood on his hands, yet now they were as peaceful as a newborn. Everything was changing and different.

As night approached, they made no fire but huddled close to each other. No food. No warmth. Only memories to keep them awake. "I can't do this," Seramund muttered to her brother. "I can't carry on anymore."
"I know. I understand. But we must find somewhere to live still," her brother comforted her, however, his voice was as gloomy as hers.
"Rest," Kyra commanded. "It heals all wounds. Even t' ones in our minds."

As he rested beside them, his long black hair covering his eyes, Androw said, "Perhaps a song will settle us." They appeared to agree, thought said naught.

"And who are you, the proud lord said,
that I must bow so low?
Only a cat of a different coat,
that's all the truth I know.
In a coat of gold or a coat of red,
a lion still has claws,
And mine are long and sharp, my lord,
as long and sharp as yours.
And so he spoke, and so he spoke,
that lord of Castamere,
But now the rains weep o'er his hall,
with no on there to hear.
Yes now the rains weep o'er his hall,
with not a soul to hear."

Kyra had realised the song by its third line, yet still listened in somber. Androw had not noticed the tear that left his eye when he sung the last few lines. "What's it about?" Saulmund asked.
"The Lannisters... killing their enemies. Just like they did a few hours ago," he answered.
"Why...?" was all Kyra could ask.
"'Cos they've won. Soon Westeros will crimson red with Lannister... as if it 'asn't bled enough," he answered. Not one more word was spoken as they somehow found their way to sleep, ready to continue their journey on the morrow.

(*Rosemary*)

As her and Luciara's baby grew inside her, she also had other concerning feelings inside her. 'Lucia has been gone for too long. I must know of his safety,' she pondered, wandering frantically around her room. From afar, however, she heard a distant cry for help, and a scream.

On her way out of the farm house, she encountered Gill holding her baby close to her. "What happened?" she questioned Rosemary softly.
"I was about to go and find out. Perhaps you ought to stay here," Rosemary suggested, thinking of her child.

She was uncertain whether following the shrilling scream into the wood was a bright idea, however, others were already making their way over, and if somebody was in aid of assistance, then it was best there as many people as necessary. Rosemary found herself wondering if perhaps somebody had died. Perhaps slain by a soldier of the Lannisters. Or a crazed local with a soft yet fierce mind. She then wondered who this assailant may have murdered. One of her friends? Her mother, whom she had not seen this day entirely? Or perhaps another that had come with them from Winterfell? The constant guessing only added to anxiety, not answers. However, her footsteps that led her to cry for help did take her to the answer.