✓ | 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚 𝑾𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒔 𝑻𝒐 𝑹𝒖𝒍𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 (R.STARK 2/3)

Chapter Four::At Night

Their home didn't feel right, the same; it felt dead, miserable. It didn't look any different to how Raina had left it, yet the eerie atmosphere haunting the establishment wasn't anything as comforting as it used to be - even in it's previously disturbing mood, Deepwood Motte had its familiarity. Now it was like walking into an abandoned building, in which had no life in for sometime. "Mother!" Called out Delvin's harsh voice as he crossed the threshold, bounding down the corridor toward the Great Hall, where he presumed his mother would be, hosting some sort of meeting with her husband's council, arranging what were to happen on account of Galbart not coming home. Raina followed helplessly, hardly recognising her brother's voice, after so long of him saying nothing to her. He wasn't at all as happy as he'd been on previous occasions, probably, as Raina later realised, because she had scared him and their brother, by disappearing into the wilderness...again. Her legs moved onwards, her eyes gazing about the entrance hall with an utmost distaste for everything occupying it. The house emblem hung on a slate of Ironwood, above a dresser made of ebony. The crimson paint chipped and dulled in the dim light of fading candles, and the silver fist, glistening somewhat, failed to spark any sense of hope or honour in the youngest Glover. Instead she still carried the utter deteste for her own house, and it's sigil, that she tried hard to ignore as she padded after her brother.

The Great Hall was scarcely scattered with the odd piece of matching ebony furniture, most tucked against crumbling walls, or forced into dark corners, where none would notice it's presence, unless knowing it was there. There was a long table stretched out in the middle of the cold room, with 4 people sat around it, upon creaking wooden benches, matching the same darkness of every other bench or chest in sight. "Delvin," Their mother gasped, arms flung around her eldest son's broad shoulders, as if she'd never seen him before; though it then occurred to Raina had it had been many years since Delvin had come home, and this was the first occasion their mother had seen him in all that time. "Mother," Delvin said bluntly, arms failing to lift at all towards his mother, but instead remaining at his side like a lifeless silhouette. "Where is your father? Or Finn? What about-" Raina coughed. She knew what the woman in front of her was about to ask, and made some attempt at getting her attention, which the ignorant tart had glossed over as though Raina was one of her servants, or a homeless wretch to have wandered in off of the streets.

Sat around the table was Maester Clerk, a grizzly beast of a man, with little height, made up for in weight, and hair upon his chin. He was bold, but had a thinly stretched, red mop upon his chubby face, that hung down into his grey robes that all Maesters wore. His eyes were, what Raina could remember, the same shade of grey that was in all the staffs' eyes, a dull blue that portrayed only boredom, or lack of interest. Despite his brutal appearance, Clerk was a pleasant and soft spoken man, whom had tended to many a wound Raina had acquired over her years fighting. Sat to his left was Greyson, her uncle, and the head of the guards. He wore his tattered brown plates, like he had always done when around Deepwood Motte, and, to Raina's knowledge, never took off when in the company of others. He wore the same blond mess of hair atop his head as his sister, Raina's mother, and had a recently shaved, tanned face, worn with a few scars from battle. He had always been fond of Raina as a child, teaching her how to hold a sword when her brothers were not around. She liked his presence well enough, and thought that, by now, he was more of a brother than an uncle, as he was far younger than her mother. Finally, perched beside the empty seat of her mother, was Raina's septon, also wearing the title of Auntie. She had greying hair that hung in braids, not unlike Raina's mother, and the same sour expression that always seemed to taunt her features. She was a hag, Esme had always said, having to have spent more time with the old lady than Raina had ever been forced to, don't fret over her nonsense, Esme had warned, she's a batty one too. Raina had always bared that in mind - now more than ever.