a little less conversation | feynriel & asher
Feynriel practically floated through the camp, looking on with pity at the soldiers surrounding him. He’d never seen such an unlively bunch, not living at least. When he’d come back across the Narrow Sea to join up with the Wolf King he had no idea what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t this. While he had heard of the victories Robb Stark celebrated he knew he was on the right side, but this was just downright a sad sight to behold. Feynriel was glad to find his partner passing by the sparring ground and tapped him on the shoulder, stopping him before he passed him by.
“Spar with me? This atmosphere is far too grim for my liking and I need to let off some steam.” He all but demanded. The two were quite a pair to look at. Where Asher was broad and muscled, Feynriel was lean and agile. It made for interesting sparring sessions.
Asher had been sharpening his blade when he heard Feynriel approaching. He stopped and smiled, waiting for him to get closer. “Are you sure you want the entire kingdom of the Riverlands to see you get beaten?” he teased, already unlacing the leather top he was wearing and tossing it aside. Of course their sparring was usually different. It was less with swords and weapons, and more hand to hand combat.
“Feyn,” he said gently, lovingly, before grabbing him by the arms and spinning him around. Asher moved them into the sparring ground, already pinning him against the makeshift wall. There weren’t many people around yet, but a few of the men in the camp had stopped what they were doing to watch what was taking place.
