𝙸𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙾𝚁𝙰𝚃𝙰 ° myrcella baratheon

THIRTY THREE

"Have you ever been in love?" Ashwell suddenly asked me as we sat around a fire later that night. When I looked over at him, I saw he was leaning against a log, a cup of ale in his hand.

A cheeky smile came to my face as I watched the drunk man. "Have you ever been in love?"

He nodded immediately. "Yeah. She was a whore named Greyla. She had these big ol'..." The man held his hands up to his chest in a cupping motion, causing both of us to laugh before he dropped his hands, staring longingly into the fire. "I told her I'd marry her."

"And what happened to her?" I asked, tilting my head slightly. "To your whore?"

"She's was killed." Ash said sadly, though his face was free of emotion. "She died on the blade of a butcher. It was...three years ago maybe."

"I'm sorry for you, my friend."

"None the matter." He shrugged off before finishing his cup and refilling it as he spoke. "You never answered. Come on, there had to have been a girl down in that rat's nest that caught your eye."

My smile fell suddenly as I thought of the golden haired princess and her green eyes that held a thousand secrets. I though of her light, sun kissed skin and the way she held herself with such confidence. I though if the ring I gave her, and the promise that I couldn't follow through on.

Ashwell's voice broke me out of my trance. "Ah, I know that look. There was a girl. What was her name?"

"Myr." I said without missing a beat.

"Was she beautiful?"

A small smile graced my lips. "Very."

The man chuckled. "Oh, you have it bad."

I sighed as I shook my head, looking down into my half empty cup. "I gave her a ring." I admitted. "I was going to marry her. But then...I was taken from her." I paused. "And now I'll never see her again."

"I wouldn't say that. The Gods work in mysterious ways, young Lachlan."

"Trust me...they can't help me this time."

Ashwell chuckled loudly and stood up on his log. "You fight for her, then. You don't count on the Gods. You take what you want." He hollered, gathering the attention of the nearby soldiers. "Because you are a Stark, through and through. And you bastards are hard to bloody kill. Your brother may be the Young Wolf, but you..." He unsheathed his sword and pointed at me. "You, Lachlan Stark, are the Red Wolf."

"Red Wolf!" A soldier shouted from somewhere in the crowd. "Red Wolf!"

Soon enough, a lot of the men around me were chanting, though it wasn't nearly as loud as what my brother had gotten just hours ago. I smirked proudly into my cup of ale, feeling the heat of vengeance creeping up on me. They wouldn't get away this time.

"Red Wolf! Red Wolf! Red Wolf!"