#vxicefromhighpoint

Gryff barely even remembered how he got to his chambers — must’ve found the way instinctively, he guessed, since his mind was in no working condition. Shock seemed to have blurred his sense of reality — the sights, the sounds, even his own thoughts mixed into one big mess. He got out alive — something he never expected to happen — but what was he supposed to do now was beyond him. He had no plan prepared for this outcome & even if he did — there was no strength left in him to execute it. Had he really gone the full circle? Did all the struggle, & pain, & loss lead him to this — back to being nothing but his brother’s plaything, there for Torrhen to hurt & humiliate as he pleased?..

In his room, Gryff simply sat down at the edge of his bed & remained there, silent, unmoving, hands clasped together & eye staring down. He felt the sickening smell of drying blood, the pain in his head, limbs, the whole body, but had no energy to try & observe the damage or seek help. What for, if it probably wouldn’t be long before Torrhen would seek him out for another session of fun?..

He sat like that for an indefinite period of time — the pain & noise in his head made it hard to tell for how long exactly. Minutes, or hours — it was like he drifted somewhere between darkness & consciousness, barely even aware of reality around himself. What brought Gryff somewhat back into this world was the sound of steps, the feeling of another’s presence behind his back. He made no effort to turn around & check who the visitor was. He simply did not have that in himself anymore.  

“ . . .  What? ” Was the only thing he could say. Man’s voice wasn’t pained, or scared, or angry — it was hollow & low, like his very life energy had been sucked out. It truly did not matter to him who had come to see him, and what their intentions were. 

Her father had once told her a person’s blood does not define them. Elaena wondered if Gwyn’s noble blood was untainted like her brother’s and father’s. For both of their sake’s she hoped the hostility and hatred was reserved for Whitehill men.

Elaena knew what it felt like to lose a brother, she knew the pain Gwyn was feeling — but Elaena makes no effort to comfort her. Gryff deserved whatever he got, Arthur didn’t. Arthur was a good man, brave and strong Gryff could have only hoped to be HALF the man her little brother had been.

“So things have been relatively quiet? Considering events prior, some peace and quiet seems appreciated”. Cley mused to Gwyn’s response, trying to find a light shinning in the darkness. Perhaps he wasn’t allowed to be here, but people like Greta and Gwyn, they’re worth the possibility of trouble.

The bandage around his head had somewhat reduced the dizzy, light-headed feeling he's been experiencing since the fall; yet Gryff was still far from back to his senses. Everything just felt... blurred, like he was unable to wake up from a long, fever-induced dream. The roar of battle, the piercing pain in his shoulder, hitting the ground, darkness, some strangers & Torrhen & their words, some endless fucking talk he hardly understood & didn't care about, just waiting for everything to finally end...

It did, eventually, but gods— not in the way he expected it to.

He was entering the stables, steps slow, hesitant, not even because of the fresh injuries' aftermath. It's just, each step he made brought him a little closer to some point of no return, something inevitable, something that made Gryff feel colder than he actually was. He was supposed to think about it, to feel strongly about what happened, but it seemed like emotions have completely burned out & apathy took over instead, so heavy, impossible to shake off.

The slow, lazy train of thought was interrupted by the sound of steps. Unwillingly, with a wince, turning around to face their source, the Whitehill was somewhat relieved to find out it was just his sister, but that was it — the sight of her failed to cause him any strong feelings either. How long has it even been since they've seen each other? And was this, perhaps, their last time?..

“My lady?..” Turning to face whoever has just entered the stables, the young man cocked an eyebrow in surprise for a second, & his hands that held a shovel he was working with stopping their movement. This was certainly not what he’s been expecting; out of all children of lord Whitehill, his daughter wasn’t the most common visitor of the stables. Gryff has been spending more & more of his time here as of late though, so, maybe that’s why lady Gwyn was here too — searching for her brother. 

Perhaps that was too deep of a comment for what was suppose to be a casual conversation between a good friend and himself? Maybe he should apologize and back-- No. He was ‘the Cerwyn’, and a Flint at that, he could spin this in a way that it wouldn’t be awkward. He’s tasted the cold clutches of battle, correctly conveying his words didn’t... didn’t seem that difficult anymore.

when will telltale release us from ttgot hell

if telltale are anything to go by... 2019... at the earliest 

Ohh I like that choice! He’s definately got the hair for him at least lol