To Speak in Jest and Die in Earnest
Twelfth Day of the Twelfth Month 293 AC
Valley of the Lost Clans, Fronstfangs, Far North
There were cornflowers among the grass, blue as the summer sky, blue as ice glinting on the jagged peaks. Though the cold did not touch him Thoros of Myr shivered as he stepped through the rustling bear-grass and sent a prayer to R'hllor with his next breath. No battle prayer this to fill him with the righteous fury of His fire or healing light in his hour of need, only simple words such he might have spoken long ago in the temple's rectory when the world seemed a simpler place. The priest glanced at his companions, trying to guess if they would push to the barrows this evening or camp again to the sighs of the northern wind.
The Red Viper would want to press on that much he was certain of, the mad did nothing by half whether it came to wine, women or war, and judging from the expression of almost cat-like anticipation upon the face of the Lady of Naath this endeavor had come to involve both the latter two. Thoros wished the Dornishman all the joy of it, for beautiful as she might be Thoros had no desire to half-embrace the grave. What she thought of the matter was more than Thoros could guess, other than the brief flash of frustration she showed at the fact that none of them dared fly through these skies.
I'll not regret the Hell steed that's for certain, the priest thought to himself.
By contrast Clegane's face was as easy to read as a sky full of storm clouds and just as dark, though not at the danger they were walking into. The Hound had taken poorly to being separated from the Princess while she went into danger, no matter that she would have Ser Lonmouth there to guard her.
How times change. Thoros briefly tried to imagine the Hound regretting not having Cersei Lannister's company. He laughed loud and clear, the sound strange to these peaks and vales.
"Care to share the reason for your good cheer with the rest of us poor travelers, your holiness," Oberyn Martell called.
Another priest might have taken the jesting title poorly, but Thoros for all his renewed faith reasoned the Lord of Light must have a fair sense of humor about the world else his tears would have drowned it long ago. "I was imagining Cersei Lannister on some distant venture risking life and limb like the King and the Princess go off on..."
"I would not mind having her with us right now," the Dornishman said with a cold smile.
"You wouldn't?" Thoros asked curiously, though he knew there was some sort of sting in the tale waiting for him.
"Of course not, we could just stake her in front of the barrow to see what comes out to eat her," came the reply.
"Alas, it looks like someone has had the notion before you," Wyla said, motioning ahead where the morning mists had pulled back just enough to reveal a group of people, wildlings from the looks of their furs though bearing mostly weapons of stone not bronze like the Thenns. Ahead of the crowd a ragged figure stumbled, pushed along with the buts of spears and taunts towards the looming mass of a barrow.
"There's only what thirty of 'em of that," the Hound said eyeing them up. "I say we deal with 'em before going in the barrow. Don't like having enemies at our backs."
"A fair tactical assessment, but we do not yet know if tactics will be required," Lady Drekelis said, motioning for Velen to come out of her mage bag. The phoenix flew so low to the ground he almost set the grass on fire with his wings, and judging from the shouts and pointing he had certainly gotten the wildlings' attention. Hopefully he would be able to get some answers too.
OOC: Not a lot of action, but I figured it would be interesting to look in on Thoros for a bit. He tends to get overshadowed by more extroverted characters like Oberyn, or more powerful ones like Wyla. 
