Rickard sat alone in the small library, his hand to his face. His father's words were always a concentrated thing; he was a man of few words when he needed to be. He had a different manner in which he spoke to his children, for Rickard it was always correction and assurance, for Alaric it was always discipline, perhaps that was why the young men was so indulged with the idea rebelling against his father. Doing these late in the hour and whatnot.
The large hound sat on its hind legs looking at Rickard. He looked dazed and out of his depth, his head resting back on the chair, the comfort it brought him allowed his mind to wander to things he wished to achieve in life. For so long now, he had wished to become more than what he was, what they were.
He had been chasing a noble title; they had enough gold to ask for it, enough coin to buy a larger piece of land. And connections to warrant a Castle being built. But that was not what Old Henrick asked of him, nor what his family needed. There were envious eyes, even in the north, eyes that would see to it that they fail.
Gradually, his eyes closed, and sleep took him to its land of dreams, where he stayed until the sound of the morning bird woke him. And the smell of dew entered his nostrils.
Breathing in sharply, Rickard woke from his slumber; the hearth was still lit with fire, and wood had just begun to burn again. Standing from the chair, his back strained and cried with pain and wished for relief. Twisting and turning his back cracked and the tension was released, he groaned. Alerting his family that he was awake. Walking to the kitchen, his mother had made some porridge.
Sitting down in his father's seat, a plate was set for him. "A long day today?" asked his mother as she came to him with a plate in her hand. "I hope not, but what can I do other than hope, the world loves me too much to not give me an adventure." A smile came to his face. He took to the spoon and began to warm his body with the porridge.
"Since you are going to Winterfell, I need you to deliver something for me." She waltzed from the table and went to another chamber, and she returned just as quickly with a small box that looked to be made of Henrick's craftsmanship. "Deliver this to the lady of Winterfell." Said his mother.
"The lady of Winterfell?" he said, a look of surprise came to his face. "It is not like we can just come and go as we please in that Castle, mother. They are Nobility, and we are but…" he stopped himself from going further, a frown growing on her face.
"There are things you are not aware of, my sweet boy, but rest assured, the lady Lyarra will welcome you with open arms." Mariam placed the small box on the table and went on to have her meal.
Soon after, the whole house was Awake. Everyone coming to the table to get their fill. When Rickard had finished his meal, he took to the door, and grabbed his jacket and cloak, raised the beam. And went outside. Soon after, his younger brother Alaric followed suit. Helping him with the cold barrels of milk that needed to be sold quickly, it was always better to sell milk in winter than summer, but then again, even in summer, it still snowed.
Their father was the last one to wake but also the one to see them off. This time, he would be the one to graze the land with the sheep. They had some two hundred sheep. One that Rickard had been careful to count just the other night.
When everything was set and ready, the milk filled in the cart and the horses tied to the cart. Their father brought out two swords from behind him, both castles forged. Alaric had already set himself as the driver, his hands on the reins as he sat at the front. Rickard spoke with his father before they drove off They would return when they had sold off most of the milk.
"You take care of your brother." Said old Henrick, looking past Rickard to his youngest son. "I know he does not listen to me, so at least he would listen to you on the road. A fool he may be, but he has a sharp mind for Blades, but you are better, so keep a clear head on you, and don't stop until you reach Winterfell." Rickard had found himself saying the last part for his father. A smile came to his face.
"Aye, I will, you know I always do." Old Henrik reached out his hand, which held the swords, and gave them to his son. Both father and son embraced one another in a tight hug.
Turning around to head to the cart, his eyes darted to his mother, who was at the door of the house. Her hand pointed to the cart. Alansa had found a way to sneak into one of the barrels again.
For a small while, Rickard stood just above the barrels in search of one that was not closed by him, and a sudden movement caught his attention. Opening it, he saw Alansa in the barrel.
"Come on out, little princess." He said out loud, she placed her finger to her lips as if warning him to be quiet, but her shushing and shushing were too loud for a whisper. Old Henrick called out. "Come on out, Alansa, I know you are there." For a small while, she stayed in the barrel, hoping that it was not true, but soon enough, she gave up. Tears streamed down her face as she climbed up. Then came her whimpering; she wanted nothing more than to go to Winterfell. All her life had been nothing but open land, farms, and animals. And this one was not the first time for her to do this.
Rickard and Alaric drove away, and the sound of Hooves assaulted Mariam and Henrick's ears. They stood together in their respective places, watching their sons go. Alansa leaned to her father as she cried in his arms. Her large hound came from the house, sensing her sadness, and began to lick her. And then she began to giggle. The hound was a large thing. He was a bear compared to her small size. Alansa was only four years old.
As the two brothers rode on the open road leading to Winterfell, the carriage rumbled as the wheels came over small rocks and pebbles.
Sitting in his place, Rickard lay back in comfort and rubbing at his back. "Slept in the chair all night, did you?" Asked Alaric.
"Don't ask stupid questions, Alaric, for this morning I would like to enjoy the morning weather." Said Rickard. Alaric looked away in annoyance, his eyes to the road, his hands tightening around the reins. "It was only a question." He said.
Looking at his brother, Rickard sighed and sat upright. And then began to speak to him. "The other day, when you came home late, where did you go?"