WELL FLAYED [Game Of Thrones: The Boltons]

1. Sharp Blade

STEEL ON STEEL CLANGED THROUGH the training yard, followed by grunts of men.

Robb Stark was clashing his sparring sword with one of the Bolton guardsmen, a tall and burly one with dark auburn shaggy mane and a known grim smirk plastered on his rugged face. It was a one-on-one spar to pass the time, and men had gathered around them to watch in amusement. The crowd was divided into two: those with the Starks and the Boltons, each cheering for their sides.

Clang! Robb's sneak attack to the right made his opponent stumble, but he regained his footing immediately then recuperated with a jab of his sword. Robb dodged it, gracefully flinging to the side then quickly swiveling behind him. For a brief second, his back was unprotected. It gave Robb an opening to hit him clean from behind then kicked the back of his knee to send him fully plummeting on the ground. As the Boltons' guardsman fell, Robb successfully unarmed him, making him the winner.

The Starks' soldiers erupted in congratulatory shout and applause to their young lord; all feeling proud that their lad beat Cornelius the Cutthroat in a single combat. He's one of the Boltons' best, a viscous warrior who cut clean the throats of his enemies near decapitation, and Robb was brave enough to challenge him into a sparring duel.

It lasted them hours to hail a victor, for both had ardent determination to win. It was indeed a combat well fought, and Cornelius could not deny the skill of the young wolf of Winterfell.

"Well done, mi'lord!" He complimented once Robb helped him to get up from the muddied ground. Although he lost, his face still wore that cocky smirk. "I've always thought tha-yer a scrawny lil'boy. But yer a trickster!" He boomed a laugh out of amazement. "A bloody goddamn trickster!"

Robb gave a kind smile. "You fought well too Ser Cornelius. You gave me a hard time."

"Eh, no ser, I'm no knight, but aye mi'lord, I took pleasure in givin' yer a hard 'ime!" Then his companions snickered behind him at his double innuendoes.

As the men dispersed and scattered away from the training yard, Robb Stark felt a grip of someone's gaze behind him. He sharply turned around to investigate but his sapphire eyes only met the cold stonewall of the main keep; and yet, he could still sense it peering into him, engulfing his skin like a cloak. Who could be spying him?

He scouted the place with his careful stare until he looked up at the open windows above. There on the fourth floor where the solar was, a silhouette of a woman. She was shying away once he noticed her, but Robb held his inquisitive gaze.

Those light brown eyes that seemed to outstand the sullenness of the weather- he knew whom those belonged to. To show his courtesy toward the new lady of the House Bolton, Robb Stark went for a deep bow. Once he looked back above him, the lady was gone.

He had been there in the Dreadfort for four days now since the marriage of Ramsay Snow and Lady Nisha Umber. He was surprised that House Bolton could manage a joyful wedding feast, considering that they're well known for being as the most grumpy folks of the North. He had enjoyed himself at that time and met new people and made new friends - one of them was Ser Mighar Umber, Lady Nisha's first cousin.

At that night, he had remembered how elated Lady Nisha was. She spoke of love like a poet to him, said things that made him doubt his philosophy. It left a mark on him that he could not get rid of no matter how hard he tried. Lady Nisha was a force of the ball of fire above, for he found her to be fervent, passionate, and sublime.

However, once the morning came and the day after, her shine seemed to glow down. Her big smiles were replaced with tired and timid ones; her vivacious colors that she used to wear were now glum; her lively manner dwindled.