Frank
Sir Heath Romanov
Castle Black, Northshore

Sir Heath Romanov regarded his bastard-who-sported-his-worst-enemy's-surname thoughtfully. He had aged almost a decade in Heath's eyes. The boy seemed truly and utterly broken, however Heath could not help but feel a great sense of relief at the sight of Mikhail growing as a normal boy would. On the downside, he was a blood-sucking leech akin to the aforementioned worst enemy. Heath figured that he should have congratulated Maith; water always found its own level. Heath's honeyed eyes flickered over to the fire as it cracked loudly, snapping him out of his unfair thoughts. 

"Did anyone see you kill him?" He finally spoke, his voice low and quiet. He certainly felt like a monster on his own worst nights, though upon looking at his son, he could not fathom why. Mikhail simply looked like a *Scared boy*. Surely being torn from the realm of the dead, unwillingly, did not make them anything other than a pair of damned souls. He sighed and leaned forward, his eyes following the thin line of blood that remained on Mikhail's throat. "Let me see your shoulder."
Richard
Mikhail Durkhan-Maith
Castle Black, Northshore

He had been too focused on his hands, surprisingly clean from the fight but theyd bruise along his knuckles by morning. He was freaking out, and the silence weighed heavy on the room.

"No." He answered, then stuttered. "Well, yeah, I suppose Daemon saw it. But we were alone. Everyone else was occupied, I'm pretty sure." He inhaled, pushing those not-yet-bruised hands through his chopped hair. 

"_Fuck_, I don't know." He breathed, feeling his voice break a bit and when he asked to see his shoulder Mikhail shrugged his other one. 

"It will be fine. It doesn't hurt anymore. _I_ dont hurt anymore."
Frank
Sir Heath Romanov
Castle Black, Northshore

The fire cracked again, like a heedless predator stalking its prey in the forest. Heath grit his teeth, hyperaware and wanting nothing more than to snuff out the bloody flame. 

"I don't know *Who* Daemon is, nor do I care to. He sounds like an ass," Heath said, "However, if you can trust him, then I don't see any reason why this ordeal cannot be swept under the rug. No one will have to know what you did. In the meantime, we can try and figure out what caused you to lash out like that and perhaps prevent it in the future." Heath paused. He had lost most of his emotional feelings after his death, but his physical feeling was all very much in tact. Heath had certainly been stabbed in his *After* Afterlife and he felt every bit of the blade tear through his flesh. He kept quiet on the matter, not wanting to give Mikhail anymore anxiety than he already had. "I'd still like to see it, if you don't mind." Another pause. 
"Did you *Enjoy* Ripping his throat? Did it feel like something you had to do, in an instinctive manner?"