Good afternoon, brothers and sisters, lords and ladies (léase con acento británico XDD). Espero que el selectivo, los exámenes finales, recuperaciones, trabajos y demás torturas estudiantiles-laborales os estén yendo bien. Llevo ya algún tiempo sin subir nada potable por estos lares y, mucho me temo, hoy no va a ser diferente. He escrito un relatillo de Game of Thrones en inglés, pero no os esperéis una joya de la literatura ni nada por el estilo. Ni siquiera tiene argumento, es sólo... Una forma de practicar el writing antes del último examen. En fin, espero no defraudaros mucho y que disfrutéis de mi prosa inglesa. ¡Un beso!
Pdta. Espero poder subir algo de calidad en unos días.
“He is so handsome, isn’t he?”, she asked her little sister, looking out the window with a dreamy gaze. Arya didn’t answer immediately, lost in her thoughts as she gently stroke Nymeria’s back. She had never been like her sister, a docile lady whose only worries were marrying a dazzling noble knight and mother his children. No. She preferred playing around with his half brother or sneaking in the kitchen at odd hours to steal some Northern delicacy.
“Who? Robb? For goodness sake, Sansa! He’s our brother!”, she finally answered, with a hint of mockery noticeable in her voice. Sansa rolled her eyes disdainfully, as if she couldn’t bear her sister’s stupidity.
“I meant prince Joffrey, silly! He is so dashing… I can’t stop thinking about him! I can’t wait to marry him”.
Arya snorted as she stood up followed by her inseparable direwolf. As usual, having a conversation with her sister was getting on her nerves.
“I don’t understand why you find him so irresistible. He doesn’t even look like a man. And he can’t compare himself to Jon. He does look like a real knight”.
“That bastard?”, she replied, without hiding a deep grimace of disgust. “You shouldn’t even speak to him, Arya. He doesn’t deserve our affection”.
Arya took a profound breath not to punch her sister in the face. She was sure Sansa didn’t even know the meaning of that distasteful word, but, since their mother used it to refer to Jon, instead of his proper name, she did it as well. Sometimes Arya wondered why her mother showed so much hate and incomprehension towards Jon, who had never hurt anybody on purpose. He was his favourite brother, the one she trust the most. Why her mother and sister couldn’t feel the same way?
“Don’t talk about my brother in such a way!”, she shouted at the top of her lungs. Sansa stared at her, puzzled and annoying at the same time. Obviously she wasn’t capable of understanding why her little sister couldn’t behave like the lady she was supposed to be. It might also hurt her that her sister preferred that bastard’s company instead of hers.
Having said that, Arya didn’t feel in the mood of sharing the shame room with her sister anymore. She was so sick and tired of her stupidity and nonsense. If being a lady meant yearning for cocky blond pale skinny princes and show disrespect for people who really were praiseworthy, then she preferred being a complete hopeless case.
Robb crossed his arms before his chest as he watched Joffrey from afar. A few days had passed since the King and his entourage had arrived in Winterfell and he couldn’t stand it anymore. He missed the refreshing summer mornings with Theon and his brothers, practicing at the courtyard, joking about the deficiencies of Bran with the bow or just feeling the invigorating wind of Winterfell whipping their faces.
“How is it possible that the heir to the throne of Westeros is such a prick? The monarchs are supposed to be smart and chivalrous…”
“Being the King’s son doesn’t make you worthy of the throne, Robb”, chimed Jon, who had hitherto remained silence. He shouldn’t speak to his eldest brother in such a disrespectful way, he knew it, but he couldn’t help but let the words come out of his mouth bitterly. The week had been especially hard for him. Not that he minded being deprived of the “stimulating” company of the monarchs and their fellows, treating him like the bastard he was. He was used to it. But for once in his life, he would have liked to know what was what it was like to be a legitimate son.
Robb gave him a questioning look tinged with anger. Jon realized too late that his words could be misunderstood by his brother.
“I didn’t mean… I wasn’t talking about you…”. But it was too late. He couldn’t take his words back. “You are not like Joffrey at all”.
Neither of them said a word for a couple of minutes, which seemed an eternity to Jon. Normally he kept his feelings to himself, but every time he decided to express his opinion he messed it up.
“It’s ok”, finally Robb said through clenched teeth. “No harm done”.
But Jon felt that something had broken inside of him.