The blood of Karstark would always be loyal to their kin, the Starks. A vow made long before even Eddric was brought into this world and into his mother’s arms. Some would say that even when he was drinking milk of his wet nurse he had already decided his purpose and in which to serve his loyalties to. For the Karstarks had been loyal to their Lords, the Starks for many a generation, and Eddric would continue such traditions until he was ripped from this worldly plane. His sword had being sworn to Cregan, and for each body it carved through it was a testament to his dedication.

However, it was his very dedication that had him travelling far from the winter sullied lands of the North. Places in which greenery thrived, where no godswood nor heart tree resided, his worship all but nearly stowed away within the North, awaiting return. Had not been for the call of war, he would remain there by his Lord and his mother. Yet, the passing of King Viserys and the usurpation of his eldest daughter, Rhaenyra, had been enough to call the banners.

And when the Starks had been asked of their loyalties, they gave it to the rightful heir instead of her younger, scheming, green-blooded brother. Eddric was pleased with such a decision, for he had no use for the false King who sat the throne currently. However, in swearing loyalties, it came at the coast of those beneath Cregan. And as but a gesture of goodwill, had his lord sent not but him, but a dozen knights of the North to serve the Queen upon Dragonstone.

Perhaps, it was the only time Eddric had ever questioned Cregan directly. Giving words of protest (“I am your protector, why send me away when I am in service to you?”) Yet, his Lord had been ever resolute. And he in turn, would not defy the order given, not when even he saw the reason in it.

And so for this time, he would serve the Queen and her family upon the island of Dragonstone. Even if now, he felt like a flower withering in the horrid warmth of the castle. It’s ancient halls mocking him, it’s heat nothing he thought he knew. Hot springs had lived under Winterfell, but Eddric supposed it did not compare to a place roamed by Dragons and false gods alike. He had arrived but days ago, the journey itself harrowing as it was taxing. At once, they had cut down soldiers who had sworn for Aegon. Eddric did not revel in it, but saw it as yet another duty.

Endure, he whispers to himself. He does it oft now. For he would give not but his sword, but his life until the usurper was unseated, and the rightful Queen was sat in his place. He was sure the true battle would come, and then the rest of the North would stir for their true ruler.

For now, he supposes, he would put up with the macabre halls of this place. Even if now, pacing through them made it feel as though eyes followed him wherever he went. That, Eddric thinks, he will not be able to get over. Moments like these, he does truly miss the snow and cold of his home. Never would he complain of frostbite again.