#meeraumber

Since the coronation at the Trident, the Lord of Karhold had spent most of his time home. Falling back into his usual routine and making the necessary preparations for winter. Despite his bitter nature at the event, the lord didn’t mind being free of his daily responsibilities. As Vickon had graciously pointed out only days prior, much of it was watching servants to make sure they didn’t forget their place. A looming reminder of the punishment that would come should their hands wander into the stores or coffers. 

But that morning while he stood in his chambers he did not expect the knock that followed, or the servant who brought news of a visitor. His voice skiddish while he informed the lord that his betrothed was in the castle walls. Though he couldn’t recall receiving any notice of her arrival, it wasn’t as if she wasn’t welcome to visit when she liked. He was beginning to learn that Gilliane Bolton would no longer be the sole woman coming and going when she pleased. It was a foreign feeling, but he wouldn’t press the issue. Not when everything hung so delicately in the balance for them. And when a stiff nod of his head Torrhen dismissed the boy and headed for the hall. 

His footsteps echoed through the castle that was more silent than he was used to. The trio of siblings appearing to be occupied by more interesting things than what their brother was doing. Nonetheless he continued until her familiar form came into view. A foreign sight compared to the woman that usually occupied his time. Something he may never grow used to, even with the help of time.

“Meera.” He piped up. “You’ll have to forgive me for the wait, I wasn’t expecting any visitors.”  

Last Hearth. A castle he frequented but not to the extent of the Dreadfort. The trio of castles all within a short distance of one another in comparison to the north as a whole. The vast kingdom of ice and snow that was harsh and unforgiving without preference. His reason for arrival different than other instances. Anxiety coiling within him at the subject on his mind. It had been years since he found himself in a situation. Only a boy of ten and five then. Unaware of the dangers and sacrifice that came with such an arrangement. But Meera Umber was not Jeyne Manderly. Her hidden agenda rearing its ugly head at his enemies rather than his allies. A man of thirty and one without an heir was weak. No matter how intimidating he may have been to his enemies. 

He stood in the corridor, picking his nails with a knife. Her nephew insisting that he would fetch her himself. “Good, the more time to drown in my own thoughts.” He whispered aloud. Meera was a sensible woman, he knew his request wouldn’t be that strange. The worst she could say was no. If that arose, then he would return to Karhold and continue holding off on the future. The sound of footfalls filled his ears, and the lord looked up from his hands at the sight before him.