Snippet #2622681

Ser Stephen Lothbrook sat on the floor of his cell, his hands clasped in prayer despite the many wounds dotting his body. Mere cuts, he thought with a frown. Dried blood covered half his face, but he paid it no mind. Oh Holy Trinity, have You forsaken us as well?

Stephen felt like a fool. It was he who encouraged the others to accept Lord Ulfric's invitation. He was certain that with his support, they could end this war. He did not expect their betrayal. None of them did. So many had died and yet he lived, a touch of sentimentality on his father's part, he suspected. Why did Lord Ulfric betray them? What had he to gain? The Order was willing to work with him and he threw it all away to continue his petty war with the Grand Duke.

He listened to the guards mock their order and he was heartened to hear a familiar voice. Merriwyn was a kind soul. He was glad he survived. For what purpose? He thought. They were all as good as dead. No, he thought. Not yet. There was still hope. He watched her heal one of the other survivors, Valeryn, he thought his name was. He frowned at the way her face paled.

"Rest now, comrade. Any further use of your magic will be of more harm than the wounds you heal," he said gently.

"You even sound like a woman," a guard snorted. Stephen ignored him. Instead, he lay his head against the wall, resting his body from the battle before. He had killed many men before being brought down by his own father. He was both physically and emotionally exhausted. A little whining from a guard did not bother him at all.M