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</div></div><br/><div style="margin-left: 20px"><div style="margin-left: 20px"><div style="margin-left: 20px"><div style="margin-left: 20px"><div style="margin-left: 20px"><div style="margin-left: 20px">One of the good things about having turned around, was that now she didn’t have to see his tired face become more tired at her request.<br/>
<br/>
One of the bad things was that by not being able to see it, her imagination created overdramatic, extravagant reactions of disdain and annoyance, which despite her having a hard time actually realistically picturing on his visage, she felt correctly represented his inner feelings.<br/>
<br/>
Despite having been raised in the castle for her own protection most of her life, only leaving with armed guards and a strict time schedule, Nerys had grown to know of the less-noble manners of thinking: or at least the ways they differed from her own. She’d sat next to her mother in listening to the peasants bring forth their issues and problems, and spoken at lengths about the outside to her closest (relatively so) handmaid, and if there was one thing she’d grown to expect from others, it was jealousy first; derision second, used to hide the first one when the golden masks of royal reverence and respect melted away to reveal their true nature.<br/>
<br/>
She’d been warned of the fact that most of the praise and honor given to the crown were something that, while deserved and to be expected, were usually fake. And she had no doubts, based on how this knight had been behaving, that his own facade towards her had faded long ago, if it had existed at all. Which meant that according to her research, he had to either be secretly jealous of her status, or at least scornful.<br/>
<br/>
The overanalyzing of a simple statement wasn’t anything new to Nerys, as her brain chugged through the process with ease after years of having to watch everything that was said and heard around her. However, she hazarded a glance behind her to try and catch reference from his expression.<br/>
<br/>
The neutrality made it hard from her to take anything away from him and she inhaled a gust of cold air sharply as she turned back forward. <b>“Yes, so long as we aren’t held up anywhere. It’s always better to play it safe, no?”</b> She argued, testing the waters to see how he would react. The neutral, impassive ones were always the ones that took longer to crack to figure out. She just needed to start applying some pressure.<br/>
<br/>
However, the man had a point. At least Nerys assumed he did, as she herself had no knowledge of the weather, for that had been considered unnecessary for her studies and preparation; another's job, a more rudimentary job. It had always confounded her that, when asked what her job actually was, few had ever been able to give her any semblance of a straight answer. It had just become another thing she'd had to try and figure out on her own.<br/>
<br/>
Not putting up any further arguments due to the fact that she quite <i>didn't</i> want to be caught up in one of Drynn's snowstorms, she picked up the pace with her horse, following the path. It had been years since she'd been this far out of the capitol and actually <i>looked</i> around her, for usually she'd traveled in carriages, curtains drawn and huddled in furs. Arion's path had always been one of the more iconic landmarks of this region, and tales even spoke of its glory back in the days. Legends spoke of it being lined with gold, the ground smooth with bricks that continued endlessly for miles and miles to bring forth merchants and traveleres alike; but, as far as Nerys could see, the path had stopped having even normal, gray cobblestones hours ago. Now, all that there seemed to be was a downtrodden path, partially hidden by the quickly climbing snow, with the off-strewn stone or rock that once belonged to a complex mosaic of a road.<br/>
<br/>
They weren't even <i>that </i>far out yet.<br/>
<br/>
The depressing lack of people or buildings around them seemed to make the oncoming storm even darker, and Nerys shrank inside her clothes in search of warmth. It was only when a beaten down, barely legible sign indicating the proximity of the locale that she perked up and spurred the horse on. The Inn itself was nothing special to look at, but it had a certain air of dependability to it, as if it had sprouted out of the ground out of nowhere, found itself at home, and decided to remain, whether the gods liked it or not. Lights flickered from the glass windows, some streaks peeking through the closed shutters of the higher floors while others remained completely dark.<br/>
<br/>
Nerys found herself blinking rapidly at the sight of an approaching dark, bulky figure in the snow, only to realize it was a young lad, no older than 12 Blood Moons, shouting at her over the rising winds. It was with a bit of surprise that she realized it was the stableboy, trying to take her horse inside the shoddy building behind the Inn itself; although surprised they had such a service at all, she couldn’t help but wonder if the protection would be enough for their horses.<br/>
<br/>
But it was cold, biting into the tip of her nose and eyes, and there was no other option for her mare; glancing at Ser Kynaston to make sure he was with her, she slid off of Dahlia and hurried inside, trudging through the rising snow. The door didn’t open immediately, requiring more than a couple sharp jerks to get it free, and as she stumbled in she found the place to be relatively crowded.<br/>
<br/>
It wasn’t large (by her standards), and the big, long table that occupied the main hall was over halfway full, not counting the travelers standing near the bar counter, and a youthful-looking party hovering near the stairs. A tall and wiry man was squeezing through people, plates of good-looking but meager-portioned food quivering in his hands and coming dangerously close to his long, spindly beard as he did so. The woman at the bar was yelling something, pudgy hands gripping several glasses, but Nerys missed it as the door opened again behind her with another gust of wind and cold.<br/>
<br/>
<b>“Keep ‘er closed!”</b> A rough voice coughed from the corner, and Nerys moved away from the door, trying to decide where to move to first, and what to do or say. To get something, you had to ask first, right?<br/>
<b><br/>
“We’d like two of your best rooms.” </b>She announced.<br/>
<br/>
No answer. Her words did less to disturb the chattering and clinging of metalware than the door had. She felt her blood rush to her face, and she turned towards her companion, going to grab her coin bag from under her robes. “Get us two rooms. Please.” She tossed the bag at him and stepped to the side. It was better to have him do it and watch. That way she could say she hadn’t tried, and ran less of a chance of looking a fool.​</div></div></div></div></div></div>