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There's a power in accepting who you are and there's a power in becoming who you want to be. Do both and you'll be unstoppable.
Laughter came from tight-lipped smiles, with wine staining the drunken's flesh and music filling the area of boisterous people. Outside, the sound of a sword plundering into a fencing dummy could be heard, it's stuffing flying into the air as each hit was full of anger. The cold wind of the night bit at the skin of his freshly shaven face. He thought back to the moment when the blade swept across his cheeks.
He closed the door behind him as he left Wren standing in the hallway, that understanding, soft smile on her face. Robb returned to his seat in the barber chair, letting the man shave his face. Theon was there as well, his skin clear of hair. Jon greeted Theon with a nod; he was never close with Theon. Jon didn't have many friends. Whenever he needed to talk, he would always go to Wren, or he would keep it to himself. There were things not even Wren knew.
Jon started to take his shirt off, in case he got any shaving cream on his clothes. "Why's your mother so dead-set on us getting pretty for the king?" He questioned Robb.
Theon answered before Robb could. "It's for the queen, I bet. I hear she's sleek as a mink."
Jon rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest. Robb smiled, "I hear the prince is a right royal prick." The barber was almost done with him, meaning it was almost Jon's turn, much to his disappointment.
"Think of all those southern girls he gets to stab with his right royal prick." Theon could only wish, Jon mused in his head. The only thing Theon ever thought about was sex.
Robb stood up and slapped Jon on the back, "Go on, Tommy, shave him good. He's never met a girl he likes better than his own hair." Jon sat in the chair and Robb winked at his half-brother. "Besides Wren, of course."
Jon was about to stand up and knock some sense into Robb, but the barber held Jon down, the razor-blade curving over his skin. He glared at a grinning Robb.
Theon chuckled, "never thought about that one," he looked at Jon with a twinkle in his eyes, "how is she in bed, you reckon?"
A scowl fell over Jon's lips as his dark eyes burned holes into the two older boys. "She's not like that, and I don't like her in that way," Jon tried to explain, but it was a weak attempt.
Robb looked at his half-brother with his ice-cold, northern eyes. "You know what I think, Theon?" He pondered aloud. Jon's hands curled into fists. Theon's mouth twisted into a devious grin. "I think Jon is lying."
