#the7:starters

Edmure had excused himself from the conversation he had been entangled in for what felt like the last hour. There were only two topics that seemed to be of relevance since his arrival in Winterfell: how the north was cold and that no one born south of the wall was meant for it. And the events leading to Ned Stark being named hand of the king. Edmure did not mind being at Winterfell- but the conditions were not set for a good visit. He considered sitting the trip out entirely, but those same conditions forced his hand for the trip. So now he stood, half in the hall, half outside of it, not sure what’s next for him. He stepped into the chill evening into the path of someone else, and then quickly stepped back. “My apologies-”

          SHE HAD ANTICIPATED THE COLD THAT WOULD meet her upon stepping foot into the true north . or , rather , she thought she had  prepared for a climate so unlike her own . instead , the princess pulls unceremoniously at various layers of fabric , more suited for fashion than function , attempting to draw them nearer to her frame. her cheeks redden , kissed by the biting cold , and then , realizing that she has amassed an audience to her spectacle , turn a deeper shade of crimson . ❝  i imagine i look rather ridiculous , ❞ a light laugh , as myrcella dips her head in the direction of the other.    ❝  forgive me . i am still growing accustomed to the climate . ❞