Tammy
The Ice Lord Marshall Carter and Felix Carter
Walkway of the courtyard, Grand Stead's inner walls, the Ashfields

Felix watched on, allowing a slight smile to become his pleasant features. He leant against the wooden barriers, hands interlocked as he overlooked Curtland being run through his drills, getting knocked on his ass, and repeating the process, whilst his ill-fitting helmet clanged against his head. All the while, his sister Willow was barking jeers at him. 

"What exactly do you plan for them?" Marshall asked, as if out of nowhere, leaning next to him. 

Felix was almost spooked by what seemed like his brother's materialisation from thin air, but had grown desensitised to it over the years. "What do you mean, *Exactly?"* He asked, glancing at him for a brief second before returning to watch Curtland attempt to parry his instructor. 

"You've spent more time with those two than your actual wife and son since your return, both of whom you claim to care so dearly for," Marshall answered, his smoke-black hair flowing harmoniously in the wind. 

Felix contemplated for a moment, his mind going back where he found them. Huddled in a dreary old shack, days without food, and a sickness that was likely to take Willow's life. "You keep my wife and son under house arrest like prisoners," Felix challenged.

"They're allowed to roam the castle grounds to their hearts' desires," Marshall retorted, looking on as Willow was ushered back inside to her lessons. 

"Perhaps my wife chooses not to act upon that benevolent right due to the hateful, scornful looks of the other wives of the castle. Or the less than-savoury remarks thrown her way by the guardsmen. *Or* The stones and rocks quite *Literally* Thrown her way by the children of the parents that tell stories of what an awful, sinful, treasonous *Cunt* She is. Perhaps I cannot bear to be around her because I am the reason all that has happened to her. Perhaps her plight is that of my own, and of my design." He felt the interlocking of his hands become a vice-like clench.

"Perhaps," Marshall repeated, as if agreeing with him. "So what, are they your substitute family now? Your stand-ins?" Marshall prodded.

Tongue-in-cheek, Felix did not look to his older brother in order to concede to his frustration, which would have given the Ice Lord what he wanted. Instead, he continued watching the knights training, as they displayed the correct way to pivot out of an offensive attack. "I thought I was dead. I certainly wished I was dead. The last thing I saw was your face before the blizzard consumed me," Felix almost shuddered as he thought back to the shadow figure with the monstrous blue eyes that haunted his dreams. "I woke up on their farm. They took care of me. They nursed me back to health. They offered me nothing but utter hospitality even after everything that had happened... Even after how much they, and everyone else had bled. It shook me to my very core; the fact that there was still the potential for good in this world, even after I witnessed it burn all around me. But they, like anyone else who has ever showed faith in me, got burnt as well. Their farm was destroyed by the Vivayn soldiers looking for me, and for other defectors. The old man, Brent, was his name, his dying words were a command, for me to find girl and boy, as well as my family. He taught me, no matter what station you are in life, all life is-"

"Don't do that," Marshall interrupted. 

"Don't do what?" Felix asked.

"That preachy, newfound sanctimonious horse shit. You don't *Get* To tell me about the value of each and everyone's beating hearts. I know you. I know what you are," The Ice Lord told him.

"Did you prefer me when I was whoring, drinking, obnoxious blowhard, dear brother?" 

"I preferred you when you were dead," Marshall declared, looking onwards still, as the knights adjusted Curtland's stance to hold the sparring sword properly. 

Felix scoffed, quite amused by that. "Well, I was always the disappointment of the family," He looked over to Marshall, surveying him. "You're leant in the exact position, in the exact place he was when he would watch us spar," He said to him.

"Am I?" Marshall asked, indifferently. "I recall more yelling than this."

"He'd be like to yell at both of us if he were here right now. Myself for losing in a devastating defeat, of course. And you, the prodigal son, for abandoning a position of power during wartime." Felix said, as they were was a unison of cheers on the other side of the wall, from an archer hitting a bullseye. "Are the echoes true? Do you seriously plan to make it the Council of Marin?" He asked. 

"The longer I sit here in a stalemate with Nathaniel, the easier it'll be for him to galavant all across the Kingdom and speak of their idle Lord Ruler, as he sits behind his castle walls safe and sound, whilst a bloody plague consumes them all. They'll see *Him* Has a better option eventually. They'll join him. He claims to offer them salvation from the sickness that devastates them. I must go to Taemar, meet with the other royals and nobles - that nest of serpents - and find out what they know. Otherwise, by the time the war with Vivayn ends, there won't be any people left to rule." The concept of being South of the Witherlands whilst that sadistic lunatic roamed free with a strong army, leaving his lands and holdings ripe for the taking filled Marshall with a sense of dread. He knew not of how his patience would fare when stuck in a conference the continent's elite, with their penchant for politicking and governing as if they were Gods themselves. His calloused hand tensed around the barrier, the fury seething through him.

"'In times of war, your strongest allies are strong walls and bountiful coffers. Let them climb, for it is with each slip and fall that hunger pangs harder in their guts. Let them climb, for with each misstep and hesitiation the cold freezes their bones harder, and harder. Let our land do the work, because by the time winter's wrath has taken them, we go forth and break them with steel.'" Felix repeated one of their father's teachings to him.

"I remember his prattling far better than you," Marshall said. "I'm taking a small force. Two hundred men. We'll ride with haste to Snowhall to garrison with Angelo Torck. There, his men will join us and do reconnaissance across the Southern Border. We'll cut round Aching Mountain to make it to the Tusk, and eventually, Vallen," He informed him. "Lord Henry Syreth has command of Grand Stead until my return." 

"Do send the Council my regards," Felix said, sarcastically. 

"I'd sooner send them your head. It'd ingratiate me with them a lot more," Marshall retorted.

Felix laughed. "Will you leave tonight?" 

"Yes. Better to get head start, and more daylight on us as we head further in to Vivayn's territory. Will you leave soon also?" Marshall enquired.

"I've been mapping it out with the men. We've tracked his movements most recently to his bannerman in the Weeping Pit, the Skagerllys. No doubt he's joining forces with them. By the pattern, it seems he's heading east in to the Iron Plaines. The terrain there is as opportune as any for a stealth attack. Might be we hit him there," Felix said, contemplating. 

"Assassinating a tyrant, and would-be King is a high-level mission. Do you think you and your men are up to it?" Marshall asked, now finally looking at him. 

"I've pulled off a few high-level missions in my time. At your expense, if I recall correctly." Felix smirked at him.

"If it fails, Felix, they're not going to kill you. They'll break you apart, piece-by-piece. The Vivayns... Have a habit of making their victims beg for death," Marshall expressed. 

The smirk disappeared in to a stoney, stoic countenance, seemingly befitting of a Carter. "I know," Felix replied. "But luckily, there isn't much of me left." His brother's cold blue eyes reflected his own pretty, yet faded ones. "This might be the last time we see each other."

"I've allowed myself the luxury of thinking that one too many times," Marshall said, breaking the glare, and looking down to the courtyard once again, where Curtland was attempting to pivot, but kept stumbling over himself. "He's putting too much weight in his left leg. He'll never be able to turn fully stomping like that," The Ice Lord said, nonchalantly. He moved past Felix and without looking back at him said, "If you get a chance alone with Nathaniel... Don't do anything I wouldn't do." He continued walking.
Steven
Noma de Cuisenaire
The set of Warhorse

Noma stepped back at the bleeding horse, his foot catching on a rock and making him stumble briefly. Regaining his balance, however, Noma attempted to catch the creatures reigns, having seen a knight try that maneuver to contain a crazed creature. The fat man's fingers failed to close quickly, and the leather snapped away from his grip.

He couldn't help but stare in awe at the creature as it bounded away, his heart cold from the sight.

"This damned war." He muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "I thought we were farther from the fighting. I'm sorry, my friends."

Noma turned towards the trio of his companions.

"Is everyone alright? Was anyone hurt?"
Stephen
Maren Tockett
Somewhere cold

Maren leapt away as the horse screamed and ran, the slick sight of blood cutting her vision as she fell back, in at least partially soft roadside snow. Her feet went up in the air completely and a little squeak escaped her. 

She didn't move for a while, frozen in place as the freezing snow crept down the back of her dress. She didn't even feel cold for a second, just shocked.

She had seen blood before, if only her own, but even as an innocent child, her innocence never was with death. She sat up, looking at Noma and Cat with big eyes, tears poking at them. War. She hated it. She felt her body shiver finally as the adrenaline gave way to shock and she stood up, walking over to Noma himself and leaning on him, shivering. She didn't say a word.
Raul
Catarina Tanner
Witherlands Roadside

"I'm okay," Catarina replied shakily, her face pale and body still trembling. She was shaken, to say the least, and her legs felt a bit rubbery. Somehow she managed to stay on her feet, but the sound of that horse's scream and the blood down its side and the massive gash in its front shoulder would stick with her for quite some time. 

She didn't have much time to dwell on it, however, as she turned to check on Maren. The poor girl was clearly in shock, a dazed, frightened look painted onto her ghostly pale face. She looked even tinier and more vulnerable standing next to the hulking Noma! It was sweet to watch her seek out the safety and warmth of Noma. 

She gave them both a wobbly smile and took a breath before saying, "At least we're safe. Better than what I thought was-"

*Wham*. Something slammed into her from behind and a sharp, searing pain bloomed in her side while stars shot across her vision.