One stirred to shake the snow from his straggly beard. "Oi, mush, wake up" he said.
"I was awake" said the other. "You think I'd sleep after what happened to ... you know."
There was a pause.
"Don't want to think about it."
"She did no wrong. They did no wrong."
There was no reply, and no sound but the soft patter of flakes compressing.
"You want to hear a story" said the one with the beard. "Of what happened here hundreds of years ago - the Westeros Cup's winter challenge!"
"Here?" asked the other. "There's no water! It's fecking freezing! You're making it up!"
"True story."
"How could they have held a yacht race here?"
"Didn't say they had a yacht race, just they hosted the Westeros Cup. It was the idea of the Lords of FIFA, to hold a yacht race where no yacht race should be held. They got bags of gold from the Lannister mines and buggered off to Dorne."
The other spat. "The lords of FIFA!"
"Aye, that's the anger that keeps you warm during a long, cold watch."
The two men watched as the snow fell ever deeper around their Lord's camp.
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