winter is coming [any]

[Belgarath]

Ugh. She’s only a hand taller, and really, who wants a freakishly sized woman like that? Not that it wouldn’t be fun to break her, to see her cower beneath his gaze while overwhelmed with fears of drowning and freezing and falling through the ice. Not yet, my precious, not yet. Not until we can see what she has to offer you, Master of Winter and Harbinger of Ice.

Her black skin reminds him a bit of the Raven-something girl he used to have in his herd. Except she had this fancy trick of actually turning into a raven - or was it sprouting raven’s wings? - she was insignificant and he can’t be bothered to remember. Belgarath’s pale gray lips curl slightly, though whether it’s out of malice or lust or pure personality is hard to say. For all that his coat is light and beautifully dappled and taught over a good deal of muscle, his eyes are flinty and hard. He pauses to look her over, this woman who hides in the shadows. They stare at each other for a long moment, sizing each other up, criticizing, analyzing, figuring out which cards to play.

“Winter and Ice and nothing that’s nice…” His voice travels off into a rather devious and/or sinister chuckle. It’s obvious his enjoys his newfound powers. Relishes, even.

“Come out, come out whoever you are.” There’s no threat (yet) in his voice, though the idea is in the back of his mind. If she doesn’t come towards him, he’ll force her out - slipping and sliding all the way. And the taller the horse, the heavier the fall...


BELGARATH
No mercy to what we are doing, no thought to what we have done
No need to feel the sorrow, no remorse for the helpless one