Faelwen

Shy - Lonely - Gentle

Pet Profile



The Bloodied Bard

"A rotten business," he said bitterly and trembled as the treachery of the Red Wedding played out in his mind once more. "A hundred curses upon them; Freys, Lannisters spawned in the darkest places and fit to rule!" Fael spat for punctuation. The song followed him, it's refrains clinging like strands of mist.

He was no more than a minstrel, a bard that lived by his drum, he lived for it as well. The Freys had taken the joy from him as neatly as a parent plucks a baby tooth from a child's mouth. On the breeze he could hear the trees moaning the twice blessed song, the song of slaughter that he had sung unthinkingly, with his own mouth.

The horror that followed haunted his dreams; a dire wolf with a crown and the body of a half grown man. "Demons all!"

He sang again weeping as he did, knowing that King in North was dead and he had betrayed him through ignorance. How was he to know that the burly minstrels in the gallery that sang without harmony were assassins? The lyrics left the taste of grave yard dirt and snow in his mouth and still he sang, for this was his penance;

"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 one there to hear.
Yes now the rains weep o'er his hall,
and not a soul to hear.

'The bloody Bard they called him and that was well and good. For by his very visage he would tell all what had happen to Rob Stark.



I belong to Valkyrie!

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