Fandom Game of Thrones RP

[aintnobaka]

The ride along the mountains was a relatively dry one, with no attacks for a few days. With their last lost, the Lannister armies had decided to flee rather than fight. They feared the King in the North, and their fear was not misplaced. The young wolf was a brilliant fighter and a brilliant leader, and Roose Bolton wasn’t entirely sure if he could find a fault in his battle strategy. He’d thought him green, at first, his battle cherry un-popped. But he’d proved himself time and time again. The Lannisters were right to fear him. Yet, when Harrenhal was in sight, something Robb Stark said nipped at Roose.

“I’d love a fight. The men would love a fight.” The young wolf said almost too eagerly, his gloved hands gripping the reins on his horse tighter. “But I don’t think we’re going to get one.” Robb tugged the reins of his horse to push forward, but movement from the gloomy castle ruins caught Roose’s eye.

He held his hand out to the young king. “I wouldn’t speak too soon, my liege.” He said, his tone as flat as always.

It seemed some of Tywin Lannister’s men had lingered behind to hold Harrenhal. But with the great force of the northern army, the castle would be theirs by nightfall.

The Lannister soldiers must have seen the size of the army that came to oppose their station, they must have seen the men still making their way along the mountainside. They knew they would not win in a fight. So, as any man would try, they attempted to flee. But Roose, from where he was sat upon his horse, could see.

“There are at least fifty of them, my liege. Your orders?” He asked, not taking his eyes from the fleeing Lannister soldiers.

“Kill them,” said Robb, “We can’t have them report to Tywin Lannister of our presence here.”

Roose nodded and glanced at the bannermen behind him. He gestured with a flick of his hand, withdrew his sword, and rode hard, forward.

--

Marinah Bailer wasn’t entirely sure what game her father was trying to play. He didn’t want to upset the Lannisters by involving himself in the North’s war, yet he was more than willing to send his daughter to aid the young Bran Stark in looking after Winterfell. But then again, sending her rather than her older brother was a friendlier approach; she was a mere woman, what threat could she be?

Of course, she was disappointed that the oldest Stark boy wouldn’t be there. She liked Robb; they got along well, and it helped that he was rather good looking. Catelyn Stark wouldn’t be there, Sansa Stark wouldn’t be there, Arya Stark wouldn’t be there. Not even Ned Stark’s bastard son, Jon Snow would be there. She had always liked the Starks, but she couldn’t exactly make decent conversation with a child. Seven Hells, even Ned Stark’s ward could make somewhat of a decent conversation, even if he had tried to steer it towards sex when they last spoke. She hoped she wouldn’t have to be there for long; she already missed the warmth of Balehill.

The carriage finally stopped once it reached the gates of Winterfell but it didn’t continue through like she expected it to. Marinah frowned and poked her head out of the window. “Why aren’t we going through?” She asked, pushing her blonde hair from her face as the breeze blew it around.

“There are Greyjoy banners, my lady.” One of her guards said.

“Greyjoy banners, what do you mean?” She scowled and opened the door to climb out of the carriage. And then she saw what he meant. Where the banners of the grey wolf would usually fly, black banners with a golden kraken blew in the wind instead. She didn’t like the look of that.

“Approach the gate. Explain why we’re here.” She ordered.

 

[Lucyfer]

“Have I told you how much I hate Tywin Lannister?”

“Only about fifty times.”

The conversation was spoken within the room once occupied by Tywin Lannister when he held Harrenhal, after two scouts left, reporting the movement of Robb Stark’s army and how close they were. Lady Moira Reyne, known as Moira Farman, leaned against the desk, arms crossed over her chest. “Good. When we get out of here, we’re going back to fighting the Greyjoys.” That made sense.

“Get out of here? We’re going to be killed.”

“No. We’re going to build fortifications, very quickly, Ser. And then we’re going to escape.”

“Fortifications? With what?”

“The Mountain left quite a few bodies that we’ve been wasting time trying to burn or bury, didn’t he?”

The Knight could see where this was going. “Set up some as false guards. Make us appear larger than we are. Set others ablaze outside the gates.” Make it difficult for them to get in. People were repulsed by the dead. The burning dead would reek to high heaven and serve as a guard before the gates themselves. “Block all other obvious entrances, and then start getting people out through the God’s Eye.” If they could just get out the back and through that lake, they could get back to the sea, where they belonged. “Get things moving, we don’t have much time.”

And indeed, they didn’t. By the time the armies of the North showed up, the red-haired woman had barely gotten the bodies outside of Harrenhal and doused in oil. When the charge came, the gates were slammed shut, and an arrow hit the bodies, lighting them up. Smoke should help obscure the entrance. The smell should help make it difficult to hold a ram and break it down. And, of course, it was a burning pile of bodies in front of a door. Fire hurt. The door wasn't about to be destroyed by the fire, either.

Usually nicely demoralizing.

“Archers, notch!”

And the hail of arrows would help. A signal was given from the wall, and the archers let fly onto the army that would be charging the wall.

They’d be fools to go meet them, and if nothing else, the Lady Reyne was no fool. She was more accustom to naval battles, but she would hold the fort and try to get them out as best she could.

She wasn’t committing suicide for Tywin Lannister.

~***~

Theon Greyjoy, Lord of Winterfell, Prince of the Iron Isles, hardly felt like any of these things as he woke in Eddard Stark’s room and dressed himself that day. He could hear the raucous laughter of other Ironborn men, but it was not nearly as loud as it ought to be. ‘Where are you, Yara?’ He wanted to curse her to the Storm God for her delay.

She should be here, to help him hold Winterfell. This was the prize of the North, this was what they needed to rule it for their own people. He had written her – where was she? ‘Perhaps she’s having troubles with Moat Cailin.’ He tried to comfort himself with that. The lean man would prove better by far for this.

Songs would be written.

The Ironborn would have what was rightfully theirs. Yara and Balon wouldn’t deny him his place as King of the Ironborn when his time came. King of Winterfell.

“Oi, Cap’n,” one of the men spoke from outside his door. They lacked the respect for him, too. It grated on him, but at least they’d come to take Winterfell with him. Soon they’d see.

Theon went to the door and pulled it open, hazel eyes fixing upon the man who stood there, “There’s some lass out here to see Bran Stark. Looks noble,” no noble he knew, of course. “Came in a carriage. Haven’t let her in yet.”

A noble woman there to see Bran? “Did you get a name?”

“Nope.”

Theon hated his group, sometimes. He rolled his eyes and pushed the man aside, pulling his fingers through his dark auburn hair, trying to finish drying the curls with the action as he moved out onto the wall and along it, where the gate guard was, keeping it shut to the woman below. When he arrived above the gates, he looked down, getting a delicious view of pale flesh contained in a dress that might have been modest on ground level, but absolutely was not from above.

‘Wait, I know her.’ He thought as his eyes lifted to her face. “Lady Marinah? What are you doing here?” She was quite far from home. That was a stupid question though – he had been told she was here for Bran Stark. Well, he’d pretend he hadn’t been. Let her speak, even as a smile curved on his lips. Here was at least some refreshing company.

 

[aintnobaka]

The moment he saw the pile of bodies burst into flame, Roose yanked on the reins of his horse, and it reared, whinnying at the fire. He heard the shout from behind the ruined walls, and immediately called to his men. “Shields!” He shouted and thrust his shield up over his head. A few of his men were shot by the arrows; some fatal, some not.

He pulled back and led the men several paces back, and he shared a glance with the King in the North. After a few gestures, Roose led his men around the back of the castle ruins. It was then when they saw people making their escape, and he kicked his heel into the horse to rush forward. The men fleeing were easily sliced down, blood coating Lord Bolton’s sword within moments.

Robb Stark led the attack from the front of the castle. The northern archers fired over the wall to return the raining arrows to the Lannister men. The only problem was trying to douse the fire. They didn’t have buckets of water, but there was the lake around the back. So, Robb ordered a few men to follow Roose to gather the water.

“Show yourselves or die cowards!” The young wolf shouted over the sound of fire and battle. No warrior, at least none that he knew, would want to die a coward’s death. He wouldn’t lie to them and say they might be spared if they came out and faced them head on. His honour was worth more than that lie. But he hoped to stall them while Roose ploughed through the back.

--

Aside from Ned Stark’s ward, Marinah had not met any Ironborn. But she knew them to be rude and disrespecting. She could handle rude and disrespecting, but she didn’t know if she could put up with it for longer than a day. And she knew they were Ironborn men when her guard spoke to one and she saw the kraken engraved onto his armour. Wonderful. More problems.

A voice called her name and she raised a brow, lifting her head to find that the source of the voice was none other than Theon Greyjoy. Even better.

“My father sent me to make sure that the young Lord Bran Stark was coping. A generous offer, Lord Robb was pleased when he received it.” She shrugged and tugged her fur cloak further around her, the cold climate not something she enjoyed. “I am curious as to why the Greyjoy flags are flying, though. Perhaps you could invite us in and explain that to me whilst I enjoy a wonderful hot dinner. Travelling across Westeros is hungry work, after all.” She didn’t particularly want to spend a lot of time around the Ironborn, but she needed to make sure Bran was okay. As far as she knew, Theon fought for Robb. But the different banners were slightly confusing.

“And I am, if I must say so myself, quite good company. I’m sure fighting in Lord Robb’s war has significantly reduces the number of pretty faces you’ve seen.”

 

[Lucyfer]

Arrows were returned, as expected, but with fewer people behind the walls of Harrenhal, there were fewer to hit. Some connected, of course, and Moira had more fired over the walls. At the shout she heard of the Northern King, she had to laugh. “What does he think we are, Northern?” Men of honor died. Robb would face that fate.

She directed the archers that remained to fire in the direction of the sound of his voice. If they could strike him, then losing this battle wouldn’t sting so bad. It’d still sting, even a retreat was hardly desirable, but at least Tywin couldn’t bitch about it as loudly.

The sounds of fighting from the wrong direction got back to her, though, as did a man who came fleeing back…the wrong way. “North men – from the back,” he managed to get out.

Moira clenched her jaw. More arrows, and one landed dangerously close to her boot. They couldn’t stand here and fight. Fleeing just became difficult. ‘Funnel.’ Force them to fight in smaller numbers. Harrenhal had plenty of halls and doors. Moira didn’t like the thought of trapping themselves somewhere, but she didn’t have time to arrange a new escape route.

She didn’t get to know Harrenhal well. She was originally tasked with a delivery of supplies, and then told to remain.

She clapped her hands together once, and motioned towards the walls. They had to give up here, and get into a dead end room. Funnel the north men in, two to three at a time, and hack them to pieces. They might still lose in the end, but there might also be a chance to talk if the Northern King saw how drawn out this could become. ‘Place that isn’t highly flammable.’

They moved quickly, giving up on fleeing, and taking to a room. They didn’t bother to lock it. The desk was overturned as a makeshift cover for the archers. Men took swords out to prepare for any that made it into the room. The hallway itself was narrow before the room – three men could traverse it at each other’s side. The door was smaller.

~***~

Theon Greyjoy listened to what she had to say, placing a hand on the wall before him and enjoying his higher perch to let his eyes slide from her face to her form, and then back to her face. So, she was there to see Bran. Apparently, to assist him. She was a bit late for that. Bran was still there, but he was no longer Lord of Winterfell. He didn’t need that sort of assistance.

Theon wouldn’t mind, though. He could use some help coping….

“Bran Stark ain’t in charge here any more, Lady,” the derision slid off the tongue of the ironborn easily, “You can go tell your father that, or Robb.”

“Hold on,” Theon snapped at the man, “She’s traveled far,” he said, as the man turned to look at him. He smirked, certain the height might help to hide his expression from Marinah. “We can offer her an explanation to take back, or if she wants to stay and help the Lord of Winterfell cope, I see no reason to forbid her.”

The man seemed to understand what Theon was actually saying then, “Heh. Right you are,” he agreed then, “Open the gates then!” He shouted to the other man across the way, and they both began to work the levers to pull the gates open.

Theon would move down the steps to be at the entrance to greet her when the gates would open, and to introduce himself more properly as he held out a hand for her, “Welcome to Winterfell, Lady Marinah. I am Theon Greyjoy, Lord of Winterfell and Prince of the Iron Isles,” and then, before she could ask, “Bran Stark is my ward.” Now. The tables had turned.

Which meant Bran was at least well. It’d…hurt too much to kill him. Or Rickon. Many of the men here in Winterfell.

 

[aintnobaka]

Arrows flew back and forth, but when they stopped being aimed at the northerners, Robb signalled for his men to stop firing. Something had changed, and they couldn’t be sure what it was until they were inside the castle. Perhaps Lord Bolton and his men had already stormed through the back and slaughtered them all. He’d have to reward the man greatly if he had done that in such a short space of time.

The men he’d sent to gather water returned and they poured it out onto the fire, quickly dousing it. Once it was gone, they broke through the door and into the open courtyard. They were first greeted with even more dead northern bodies than they could imagine, and it sickened Robb to his stomach. But he did see the bodies of Lannister men. They weren’t dead. Maybe they had fled out of the back.

That question was answered when Roose found him.

“They must be lingering around,” Robb mused and kept his sword tightly in his hand. “Split up into small group and search this place. Don’t let them corner you, and if you find them, shout. Others will be able to hear and they’ll come to your aid.” He ordered, and the men broke off into smaller groups to search the castle grounds.

Roose led a small group through the castle ruins. They found a hallway, and the few men lined up on the walls. But then they shifted position. Two men formed a shield wall in front of the door, and behind them knelt an archer, his arrow notched, aiming between the gaps in the shields. They kicked the door open.

--

Marinah cocked a brow at the words of the Ironborn stood beside Theon and she rolled her eyes. They spoke out of place as well, apparently. But at least they were allowed in. The gates of Winterfell opened, and Marinah walked through at her guard’s side, the carriage following behind them. She’d packed enough belongings to last a while, so at least she was prepared to stay if she needed to.

She took his hand as he offered it to her, and she chuckled. “Hm, Robb Stark didn’t write that in his letters to my father.” She shook her head. “He specifically said that Bran Stark is the Lord of Winterfell in his absence.” She caught sight of the Ironborn man walk down to linger at Theon’s side, and she tilted her chin up.

“You there,” she said. “Learn your place and don’t speak the way you did to a Lady. Surely your mother told you to respect nobles, hm? I’ll let it slide for now, but if it happens again, then I’m afraid I’ll simply have to demand a punishment for it.”

Then Marinah turned back to Theon and smiled. “You wouldn’t want to insult a guest by allowing your men to talk to me in such a way, would you?”

 

[Lucyfer]

The steps could be heard in the hallway, heavy, firm, and direct. Two together. Another close. ‘There are more.’ Moira had heard more, or so she thought. Either way, the ones coming forward seemed to understand they were entering a dangerous situation.

She stood besides the door, not on the side that it opened into. So when it was kicked open, she was spared being hit by the door. The two archers behind the desk let fly, though it did nothing but hit shields, while one of them was struck by the archer between its twin guardians. ‘This won’t do.'

Moira pushed from the wall as her archers ducked behind the desk to nurse their wounds or prevent more. She turned and kicked, hard, at one of the shields, hoping to stagger him back into his archer and slow that down. Depending on the success, she’d either slam the door shut, or pull her sword and try to follow through with the opening created by a staggered man.

After all, his partner would have his side briefly open. She’d try to take that opening if it was given, hope he was doubly surprised by a woman and the staggered man. The other western knights prepared to follow her lead to deal with those in the hall.

‘There’s the rest.’ Her eyes briefly caught them. Dreadfort sigil.

Well…at least death would be a mercy.

~***~

Theon was pleased that she accepted his hand, and did not seem terribly perturbed by the news he had to share. She did not look horrified or resentful at all, but rather, continued a bit of play. As if it weren’t obvious what he had done – that he had taken it by force. “Robb Stark is going to learn fairly soon, don’t worry,” he had yet to dispatch a raven yet. He didn’t need the north being rallied just yet.

He didn’t have enough defenses prepared.

The Ironborn that she spoke to let a wry smirk grin on his lips, “You ain’t no lady here,” he told her bluntly.

“That’s enough, Maran,” Theon snapped. There was no need for all of this ill treatment, regardless of her position as just some woman of the land – just someone who, at best, could be a salt wife. The Ironborn would not respect her so-called nobility since she was not Ironborn herself, but Theon could still try to insist on some civility.

He let his eyes snap back to Marinah then, as Maran walked to shut the doors, not commenting. He knew what Theon was after – of course he’d try to play the ‘gentleman’ now, even if it was stupid. He ought to just take what he wanted, like any Ironborn man would. Theon had a lot to learn, though.

“Let’s go inside,” he told her, “I can show you to your quarters and I will see to it that a hot meal is prepared for you. Then, we can talk.” He could explain the situation as it was, let her see Bran if he needed to. “Maran – show her companions to good quarters, as well,” he shouted back.

 

[aintnobaka]

Despite her attempt to knock back the soldier by kicking the shield, the man had been prepared and he pushed her back with a sharp thrust of the shield. Immediately, he was on his feet and inside the room. The others poured in after him, their swords drawn and shields up. They surrounded them within seconds; these men were finely tuned to the art of battle and fighting technique.

"Found them!" One of them shouted.

Roose Bolton examined the numbers of the people they surrounded, and his eyes settled on the only woman in the group. "This will be a fight to your death, unless you surrender now." They would most likely die anyway. It wouldn't be good to have Lannister men run free to report to Tywin about the taking of Harrenhal, and none of these were worth keeping as prisoners. Roose had no doubt that Robb would probably have mercy for the woman.

"Surrender to the King of the North or fight against us." He said. The flayed man on their shields, on their armour, was enough for anyone who knew anything to know who they were, and what they could and what they would do to their enemies. Flaying had been outlawed for years, but laws did not apply in war, and Roose Bolton was fully willing to live up to the name of his house.

--

"At least someone here has some civility." Marinah mused as she followed Theon inside. She didn't trust him as far as she could throw him, but she had to put up the act. She would sent a raven to her father as soon as she could so that he could send word to Robb Stark. If Theon had betrayed him by taking Winterfell, that was enough for treason.

She half expected her men to be dead come the morning. It would panic her, but she would have to deal with it. "I must thank you for being so kind when your men are less so. Then again, I expect they aren't used to treating women with respect." Most ironborn weren't, from what she knew. "I don't appreciate being talked down to in such away, especially when I have travelled so far. You can imagine how exhausted I am."

They came a stop outside what she expected to be her quarters, and she took a deep breath, clasping her hands in front of her. "Will my belongings be brought up soon? I think I would like to change into something that covers me up a bit more. This dress wasn't made with the cooler temperatures in mind."

 

[Lucyfer]

The attempt failed, and Moira was not quick enough to shut the door, nor were her men. Those with the Dreadfort symbol piled in, and things came to a standstill as her own realized how quickly the tides had turned. She considered ending this in a bloodbath, but the odds weren’t good of receiving quick deaths that way.

“Hold.” The woman ordered them. They didn’t drop their weapons, nor did she. Bolton, or she assumed he was Bolton, seemed to ascertain she was leading them. “We’ll surrender, but hold us prisoner – we aren’t many, and my brother would pay a good ransom for me to more than make up the supplies you lose keeping us.”

Well, cousin was more honest, but the lie of being a Farman was that Sebaston was her brother. “I am Admiral Moira Farman of the Fair Isles,” Lady did not do her role justice.

The Fair Isles were plenty wealthy, though. They were part of the Westerland trading network, after all, and right before Lannisport. They were well-connected. It was the only thing she could think to say to try and get her men spared. At least some of them. She was worth something alive, at least to the Isles.

~***~

Theon found his nose wrinkling a bit as she commented on civility. Though he knew it was true, it still stung something within him. The Ironborn were his people. This was how they were – how he should be. He should take offense on their behalf, shouldn’t he? “Things are different on the Iron Isles. Respect is earned, not given.”

Even for him. A Greyjoy. It was an odd lesson. “They don’t mean any harm, though,” well, some of them probably did, but they wouldn’t touch her on his watch. He would make sure of that.

As they came to the door, he paused and turned to face her, “Yes, I will see that your things are brought up to you.” He’d do it himself if it was needed. “Though, Winterfell is warm – if you give it some time,” he had gotten used to the oddity of how Winterfell maintained its heat.

He wouldn’t mind if she didn’t put on anything warmer…, “I wouldn’t want you to dress warmer only to end up regretting it later.” He wasn’t dressed terribly warm. He wasn’t even wearing one of the fur cloaks. Not within the walls, anyway. That’d be far too hot.

 

[aintnobaka]

Roose eyed the woman as she suggesting holding her for ransom. It wasn’t his decision to make and he wasn’t sure how Robb would feel about it, but money would help fund the northern army, and they would be able to fight for longer and buy more supplies for their soldiers. Food and weaponry and armour was not cheap. And the Fair Isles had money, so they knew that if there was a ransom, they would be getting a decent amount.

“Hm…” He seemed to think on it. “Alright. Kill the others, keep the woman alive.” He ordered, and bloodshed erupted.

The northern men, skilled in fighting and adept with their weapons, killed the other men in the room without even blinking or giving it a minutes thought. They followed their Lord Bolton. Roose ordered someone to bring him rope, and when it was brought to him, he tied the hands of Admiral Moira Farman of the Fair Isles behind her back.

“Tell me, Moira Farman,” Roose said as he led her out of the small room. “Are there any others lingering around here that we should know about?” He believed she would tell the truth; lying would cost her dearly.

--

“Ah, perhaps you are used to the cold, Lord Greyjoy, but I am not.” Marinah said, emphasising the title to show just how little she believed it belonged to him. Perhaps it was a risky thing to do, but she didn’t think he would kill her. She was too important to kill. Right now, anyway. “The temperatures at Balehill are much hotter. We’re so close to Dorne, you see.”

A faint smirk crossed her lips. “Although if I do find myself too warm, I’ll be sure to take off layers so that I don’t faint from overheating.” She hoped that would soothe any blow he felt from her mocking his title as Lord of Winterfell.

She opened the door to the room and walked in, but kept it open by leaning against it with her hip. “Not too bad…” She mused as she looked around the fairly-decent sized room. Its bed was big enough for her and there was a fireplace at the side, with chairs for her to sit on so she could warm up by the fire at night. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

 

[Lucyfer]

"No!" Moira had her steel drawn in a second but it was for naught. They were outnumbered and they were able to restrain her before she could do harm, or get herself killed. She had to watch her men die - she was at least glad she hadn't told them to throw down their weapons.

Rope bit into her wrists. She was brought before the man once more, sans weapon, and asked of the others. In truth, she did not know if there were others. She had taken a group, but it didn't seem large enough.

People had died - she didn't have a head count.

As she was brought along with Bolton, she answered, "I hope so." Not a lie but not really an answer. Moira wasn't thinking much about self preservation right then. Pride got in the way of that. Reyne vice. She was only thinking to how pretty Roose's head would be on the floor, beneath a boot.

~***~

The young man's nose wrinkled at Marinah's obvious mockery of his title. He was a lord even before he took Winterfell, and now he had earned it. Won a castle. Her suggestion that she might strip did little to salve the wounded pride and he stepped back as she stepped in. Took it all in.

Winterfell was always a warm place to him. Once full of chatter, now all but silent. "You're welcome, Marinah." He stripped the title from her name, insult for insult. She didn't deserve it by their own standards, after all. "Your items will be brought here. I will leave a guard here to escort you to the Great Hall when you're ready."

He let his hazel eyes narrow. "Perhaps you will find a lady's courtesy among your things." He was getting very tired of being insulted for his greatest accomplishment.

With that, the Greyjoy would go to fulfill a host's duties. The companions of Marinah were being shown in and he spoke with Maran again to send him to Marinah to act as guard and escort - make sure the lady didn't go anywhere else. Like to find Bran and help him.

Maran put on a sly little smile, "As you say," and hefted her luggage into his arms before taking Theon's instructions to find their noble guest.

Then Theon would go to the kitchens to make sure that food would soon be prepared. No feast - but cooked meat and vegetables, grain. Not stew again. He was preserving feast fair for Yara.

 

[aintnobaka]

Roose couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped his throat at her words. I hope so. The words of a prideful woman who wanted the northerners on edge. And they probably would be on edge well until the next morning, but it wouldn’t be the success of her words. They would have worried, somewhat, even if they were certain no one still lingered around; one could never tell what would happen in a war. Especially not in a war with Tywin Lannister.

He took the woman out to the courtyard where he found Robb waiting.

“My liege, this is Admiral Moira Farman of the Fair Isles,” Roose said and moved to stand by the king. “She suggested we hold her for ransom.” Then he leaned in to whisper to the young Stark. “The Fair Isles have money, it might be wise doing so to help fund the army.”

Robb didn’t take his eyes off the woman even as Roose Bolton whispered into his ear. He wasn’t going to kill a woman, there was no question about that. But holding her for ransom would help their cause; so long as his mother didn’t allow her to escape the way she had allowed Jaime Lannister to escape.

“Alright.” Robb said with a nod. “Keep her guarded at all times.”

--

Marinah’s smirk dropped from her face when he returned the insult by refusing to use her title. So apparently two could play at that game. She watched him leave and she closed the door behind him, and she rubbed her arms beneath the fur cloak.

She would ask about Bran over dinner, and she would ask to see him and the other Stark boy to make sure neither of them were hurt. Then, when she could slip away, she would send a raven to Robb or Catelyn. She would send a separate one to her father to inform him of the situation, but he was too far away to do anything.

The bedroom door opened without a knock, and Marinah wasn’t at all surprised to find the ill-mannered ironborn bringing up her luggage. “Leave them there,” she said, pointing to a corner, purposely leaving any pleasantries.

However, Maran – if she remembered his name correctly – didn’t leave after putting down her luggage.

“Aren’t you going to leave? I plan on changing.” She frowned.

“The Lord of Winterfell told me to keep watch over you, so I ain’t leaving this room.” Maran closed the door and crossed her arms.

Marinah scowled; she’d complain about this. “At least look away unless you’d like to be blind.” She grumbled the empty threat and opened one of her cases to search for a warmer dress.

 

[Lucyfer]

Moira arched a single brow at the chuckle that escaped from Lord Bolton, but said not a word more. She had heard he was akin to Tywin - did not smile or laugh. Just as ruthless. No wonder the boy was faring well if he heeded such advice.

No need for her to speak before they reached the courtyard, and the Stark army. She could feel the tension in the air at her unexpected arrival, and she stopped where she was left. Resisted the urge to test the binds. Later - when she had a better chance.

Young Wolf indeed. Moira might have been more surprised with his youth were it not for the history of the Westerlanda. Tywin destroyed her own house young. Were it not for the fact she called the West home, she would have wanted Robb to win. Might have joined him. Except, the West was home.

Roose introduced her and dropped his already low voice down so she couldn't hear what was whispered. Either way, it seemed she would be ransomed. Which meant she could get back on a ship soon and take her fleet to White Harbor or Moat Cailin and wreck the North. Of course she didn't say that. She said only, "My brother will be grateful for your mercy, Lord Stark." He wasn't a king to her, but he was still a lord.

~***~

Maran didn't turn away, "As I said," he spoke more slowly, as if she were hard of understanding. "I have my orders to keep watch on you, so," he smirked, "these eyes ain't leaving you, no matter how painful."

Theon probably hadn't meant it like that, but Maran wasn't about to disobey good orders like these. No, he was going to savor this noble woman's beauty, or her discomfort. Either would please him.

"We just want to make sure nothing happens to you," he added, his eyes looking to the luggage and all those heavier dresses. Odd she did not come already dressed. Her own mistake, though.

His victory.

~***~

"At least cook up some chickens!" Theon said as he was leaving the kitchens, exasperated. He knew they were short on fresh meat. They needed to go hunting but he hadn't had the time for such things. They tried to stretch the food out in stews or similar meals, and it was working, but with Marinah as a guest, there should be freshly cooked meat. Even if she did insult him.

He went then towards Bran's room. The boy was there of course. He couldn't go anywhere, after all. He did knock, and stepped in to find the boy glaring at him. He did not smile at him. "You have a guest."

"Who?" The young boy asked, defiance still glinting in his eyes.

"Lady Marinah." He answered, adding no surname to help Bran. "I will bring her up after dinner. You will tell her that you have surrendered Winterfell to me."

Bran did not look pleased at the orders given. Theon waited for a response, and eventually the defiant boy dropped his head. "I will," he murmured.

 

[aintnobaka]

Robb eyed the woman in front of him before he nodded a little. He walked away to speak to his mother, and Roose Bolton’s gaze turned on the woman once again. She was to be guarded at all times, and Roose would be the one to choose the guards. But at first, he would scout out a suitable location for her to stay. It was starting to get late and he would soon need to rest after a meeting with the king.

Thankfully, there were still some chambers that hadn’t been destroyed in the castle. He hated that one of them would go to their hostage, but it could be bad for them if they didn’t treat her well. A woman was the Stark boy’s soft side, and Robb would want her to be treated well.

“Follow me.” Roose ordered to Moira and a few soldiers that would act as her guards, and he returned inside the castle. He turned to her, his brows slightly furrowed. “You seem to know this place. How many bed chambers have survived the ruins?” He asked.

--

“Oh, I’m sure that’s what you want.” Marinah scowled as she picked out a grey dress with slightly thicker material. She walked to the bed and laid it down, then she took off her fur cloak. Once again, she glanced at him, and she huffed when she learnt he was still looking at her. So, she kept her back to him.

She peeled off the pink dress she had on and folded it up. Save for some thin underwear around her hips, she was practically nude beneath the dress. Her blonde waves reached down to her mid-back, just before her waist curved. Marinah shivered, and she kept her back to Maran as she pulled on the other dress, but she cursed at the lace on the back of it.

Marinah swallowed her pride and looked over her shoulder at him. “I doubt you have any experience in dressing women, but do you think you could try to lace this up for me, please? I can hardly turn up to dinner so dishevelled.”

 

[Lucyfer]

Moira followed along the Lord of the Dreadfort and his contingent of guards, head still held up as she walked back into the castle that had been the death of her men. She had enough time to count and know there were more than enough rooms for everyone she had here.

Harrenhal was still partially destroyed, but there were plenty of good rooms for use, “There are still at least near 200 good rooms left, some of lesser quality than others,” some with the burns still noticeable, the walls charred, but still good in a pinch. Likely, she’d get one of those.

She thought to add then, “My brother will require a letter from myself, or he isn’t going to believe any letter sent from a captor. I can make it short. You can read it,” not that she could stop him anyway, but Sebaston and she had a code. A very simple one, that few would pick up on.

Fewer would actually understand why it was the way it was, even if the noticed it.

~***~

Maran had no intentions of looking away from this pretty noble woman. He didn’t know if Theon intended to claim her as a salt wife, but if not, Maran could use a woman with some fire to her. Teach her other uses for her pretty mouth besides spitting venom. He would not move to touch her, though. He knew that would cross too many lines here.

Euron Greyjoy had gotten exiled for such things. Theon might not have that authority, but Yara might.

When he was asked to assist with dressing her, he did chuckle, but he pulled himself away, “It’s just some simple lace work, love. Laces and knots – I do enough of that on a ship,” he came up behind her and took the laces, began to weave it through the little loops and pull it up through, pull it tight.

~***~

With the little lord’s answer, Theon left him, and went to oversee the servants setting up the Great Hall. It would be set for the Ironborn, as well, though Theon saw that they would be seated at their own long table, while he and Marinah would sit at the table Ned used to sit out.

‘Still so large….’ The home on Pyke was not nearly as large as Winterfell. He felt small there, in the midst of it all, in his Greyjoy armor.

It still felt wrong, on some level. Even if he knew he should hate the Starks for his imprisonment, it was…hard to. He did not hate Bran. Luwen. Rickon. Not even Robb – they had always treated him well. ‘No they didn’t. You were a prisoner in silks.’ He shook his head to dismiss it, the scent of chicken finally reaching him, roasted in herbs.

Good. The kitchen had listened.

 

[aintnobaka]

Good, Roose thought, there were plenty of rooms available so at least some of the soldiers didn’t have to camp outside. The best rooms would go to the commanders, of course, but there would be some left over. Then again, they would probably allow the medics to have rooms as well.

Lord Bolton looked at the woman and scoffed slightly. “You will write the letter, yes, but we will tell you what to write. Do you think we’re stupid enough to allow you to choose the words? You could send a code to your brother for all we know.” And they weren’t stupid. No doubt Robb Stark would dictate what words were used in the letter to send to Moira’s family. He was the King in the North, after all, and she was his hostage.

He stopped outside of a relatively small room and opened the door to peer inside. There was quite a bit of charring on the wooden flooring and he wasn’t sure how stable the floor was, but if she was smart, she would avoid the burnt parts. “This will do,” he said as he walked inside. “You’ll be brought food and water, and if you need anything else, ask one of your guards.”

--

Marinah only rolled her eyes when she heard the words of the ironborn that had been ordered to keep an eye on her. “Yes, but I’m not a ship, am I?” She hummed, and gave a hiss as he pulled the lace too tightly. “A bit looser, please. I would like to breath. I don’t want to go into a state of asphyxia over dinner.” She was sure passing out in front of everyone would be utterly wonderful.

Once the dress was finally laced up, she turned around and took a step back from Maran. “Thank you.” She muttered, not wanting to say it any louder than she did.

The grey dress covered more than the one she had arrived in, which she was glad for. She didn’t want any ironborn perverts staring at her. Although she realised she may need to use her assets to her advantage at some point during her stay. If she was going to be constantly guarded, she was going to struggle to write a letter and send it to Robb Stark, or even her father.

 

[Lucyfer]

‘Oh you idiot.’ Moira kept her mouth shut until they were at the room, though. Of course there was a code. That was the entire point, the entire way, they would recognize a letter from each other, and recognize that it was written, more or less, of free will.

She was taken to a room with charred floor – quite to her liking, if she was honest. She’d love to find out how unstable the floor was. See if she could get through it some night and just waltz out on her own. Of course, that was a thought for when she got her hands out of the ropes, of course.

That wasn’t the hard part. A bit of twisting and she’d eventually rub the flesh raw. Bleed. That would be lubrication enough to escape. No one was ever worried about that. Most couldn’t handle the pain of it. She stepped into it after Roose, “Nothing else,” she said, “but reconsider the letter. My lord brother and I do have a code, but it isn’t malign – it is simply to verify identity.”

Not that she would teach him the full code. “Anything else, and he’ll pay no ransom, no matter how well dictated the words are, my lord.” There was always a bit of sing-song to that, but why wouldn’t their be? The Rains of Castamere was known to every Westerner.

‘And mine are long and sharp, my lord….’

~***~

“Never know, love, you might like asphyxiating a bit,” the ironborn joked, but did loosen it at her request. Apparently, she had never been to Essos. They wore these things much tighter in Braavos – at least, if you were one of the courtesans, they seemed to wear them quite tight.

Once she was all laced up, he stepped back as well to admire his own handiwork, before he admired the woman in it, “You’re welcome,” he said as he heard her words of thanks. “Now, when you’re ready to go out to the Great Hall for dinner, you just let me know, and I’ll see you out to it. I’m sure the feast will be ready soon.”

He was hoping it’d be something besides stew. Like all the rest, they were sick of stew, but Theon wouldn’t let them do much hunting. He was saving what he could for Yara – and Maran hoped she’d arrive and knock some sense into her daft brother’s head. This was a good castle, but one they couldn’t defend too well.

It was just so damn far from the sea…he missed it calling out to him already. He hated this frigid place.

 

[aintnobaka]

Roose’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he looked down at Moira. He didn’t like her tone, but he was hardly going to scold her for it. It would be pointless, anyway. He simply let out a sigh and turned to the door. “I’m sure he will recognise your handwriting, Admiral.” He mused and turned to look at her as he reached the door.

“Because if he does not offer the ransom money then it is simple; he will not get you back. You will remain with us until we receive that ransom money. If he refuses to pay it, then you will not go back home. Is that understood?” He said, his voice harsher than it had been before.

He wasn’t going to let this woman think she could get her own way in the situation she was in. She was to cooperate and remain silent, and that was it. If her brother refused to pay simply because of some stupid code, then he would not get his sister back.

-

“Perhaps I might like it, but I doubt I would ever like it from you.” Marinah mused and wandered over to the window to peer out of it. The drop from the window to the ground wasn’t that big of one, but with the little skill she had in jumping out of windows, she would probably hurt her ankles in the process. So, she couldn’t sneak out that way if someone guarded her during the night.

She moved away from the window and crossed her arms, her eyes landing on Maran. “We may as well go now,” she said with a shrug and walked to the door. “Do tell me one thing, though. Will you be standing guard outside at night? I hardly like the idea of you, or anyone else for that matter, watching me while I sleep. If your face is the last thing I see before I doze off, I might just have nightmares.”

And with that insult out of the way, Marinah opened the door and left the bedroom, before waiting for him to escort her to the dining hall.

 

[Lucyfer]

Of course Sebaston would recognize her handwriting. Moira had no doubts of that, they sent enough letters back and forth – but handwriting could be imitated. Signatures. A code was different, especially to those who only guessed at it.

Roose seemed to think he was intimidating her with the possibility of staying. Of course, it would take quite a bit more than that to perturb her, and she allowed a smile to cross her lips, as if he were promising her a vacation rather than a cell. Oh, she would hate him for it.

But, hatred was the very reason she was even still alive. An admiral. It was her light in the darkness – that unending hatred for Tywin Lannister never faded, even after all these years. Even when she fought in his wars. “Well then, you had better get used to me staying with you,” she said that as she walked to what bed remained in the room, and let herself fall back to sit on it, crossing one leg over the other.

“I won’t be going anywhere soon.” Sebaston was not a man easily intimidated, and Moira had made things very clear.

No code, no correspondence. She’d write all the pretty letters the northmen wanted her to write, but it’d do no good in ransoming her to Sebaston. She doubted Tywin would pull a hair over his admiral – he went to war for his son Tyrion, but he wouldn’t have bartered. That wasn’t the Lannister way.

~***~

Maran laughed aloud at her declaration of nightmares, which had followed her comment on asphyxiation. Ah, she was a lovely, fiery one. Theon didn’t deserve her. He didn’t have enough spirit for someone like her. “All depends on Lord Theon’s orders, miss. If he wants you watched…you’ll be watched,” he said, and let her head out first.

He’d follow after, and then quickly take the lead to move them on towards the Great Hall. The food was being brought out then, and Theon was standing near the high tables, where the once great Lord and Lady Starks sat. It was a true meal, for once.

Roasted chicken, greens, potatoes, and even a bit of a dessert if his eyes didn’t trick him – not that he was keen on it himself, but it was nice to see something there. It looked like some sort of pecan pie. Better than anything too sweet, or too unripe. The dried fruits had not been appealing to Maran in the least.

Theon turned with their entrance, “There you are, Lady Marinah. Good timing,” that was spoken to Maran, “You may let the other men know that dinner has been prepared.”

“Of course, they’ll be pleased to know it,” he could tell they wouldn’t be dining directly with the guest, but Theon wasn’t getting rid of them, either. With that, Maran left Marinah’s side, leaving her with Theon and the kitchen staff as they brought out the food.

Theon’s eyes went over her, “Silver does suit you,” like iron. He was pleased with the choice of dress, even if it covered more of her flesh than the other one. “You can join me at the high table, away from the others,” he said, and would move to walk up to himself, expecting she would follow. If she was as hungry as she implied, she’d want to dig in quick.

 

[aintnobaka]

They would try the first letter, and if that didn’t work, then he would consider the code. Of course, Roose couldn’t make these decisions on his own. He would have to consult Robb, and the King in the North would be the one to make the final decision. Although he believed the young wolf would agree with him, that allowing her to write in code could be dangerous. They could force her to tell them what the code was, but she could easily lie. And Roose didn’t like the idea of being led into a trap.

He walked over to the woman and pulled out a dagger at his side to cut the ropes around her wrists. “You’re free to move around the room, but you cannot leave. If you want to see one of us, tell the guards outside your door. They will inform us, and we will come to you. I wouldn’t like to think of what punishment might come your way if you don’t follow these orders.” He said.

There probably wouldn’t be a serious punishment. Robb wouldn’t want to harm a woman, especially one that they were trying to ransom. If she was hurt, they wouldn’t get as much. He then turned on his heels to leave the room, ordering those he had brought with him to stay outside the door at all times, and to report to him if she tried anything.

-

Marinah’s eyes shot straight to the pecan pie on the table. By the Gods, she loved dessert. She wouldn’t show it, though; she wouldn’t let them win her over with sweet food. It wouldn’t be that hard if they tried, though.

“Hm, most colours suit me.” She commented as she followed Theon to the head table. “I am glad you’re letting me sit here. If I had to be any closer to that Maran, I might vomit.” Perhaps he wasn’t that bad, but she liked being dramatic. She sat down at the table and brushed her blonde waves over her shoulders.

“I do think you should know, though, that it doesn’t please me that he is guarding me from inside my chambers. I’m quite used to people admiring me, but I don’t need his eyes raking me with every move I make.” Marinah mused and looked across the selection of food, deciding to change the topic of conversation quickly, as if she had merely said that in passing. “This looks delicious, thank you for having them prepare such a dinner for my arrival. I doubt we’ll be having this every night, though, hm?” She chuckled as she finally looked at Theon.

 

[Lucyfer]

Moira tensed when Bolton came over with the dagger, but it was only to cut the rope. Such a waste of good rope, but she wasn’t going to complain. She brought her wrists back in front of her and let her right hand rest over the other, massaging it gently. It hadn’t been tied long, but rope was still bothersome.

She bit back a comment on how nice it was to be treated as a Queen. To call for others, and have them come. She only said, “I understand,” not at all perturbed by the thought of punishment.

If she got out, she wasn’t planning to get caught. Besides, Lord Stark was trying to prove he was not like the monsters in King’s Landing and the West. ‘And what could he truly do to me?’ Physical pain? Permanent scars? None of that concerned the Reyne.

She’d already dealt with total loss. It made her quite fearless in these situations, more than most would be.

Moira listened as his steps took him away, and then rose to explore her chambers, especially the charred floor.

~***~

Theon did see the way her eyes moved towards the pie. ‘Thought so.’ It was an odd thing he’d noticed about the majority of women in his life. Sansa, Ros, even Arya – they liked sweet desserts. He did not have much of a sweet tooth himself, but it seemed women did. He wasn’t sure about his sister, Yara.

Doubted it.

Theon bit down on a comment on Maran – he wasn’t allowed to speak it anyway as Marinah continued to speak as if she hadn’t said anything significant. He hadn’t meant for him to do that. He should have respected the woman’s privacy. It wasn’t like she was going to steal out a window! “You’re welcome,” he said as she complimented the meal, “And no, mostly it is stews, but your arrival is a special occasion.”

Then he was sure to add, “I will speak with Maran and any of the other guards I have watch you, to make sure that does not happen again. It is enough to guard your door,” or it should be. She was here as a guest, after all, not a prisoner.

“You can eat however much you like,” he indicated then, “and how is your father? Is he in good health?” He should ask about that, considering it was her father who sent her here.

 

[aintnobaka]

Roose left the bedroom and wandered back to the courtyard, where he found Robb talking with his mother. He waited patiently until the two finished their conversation before he spoke. “Admiral Farman is in one of the rooms on the second floor, and I have two guards up there to keep an eye on her.” He informed the King in the North.

“Good,” Robb said with a nod, “Once everyone has settled down, we’ll have her write a letter to her brother for the ransom. We’ll tell her what to write, and she’ll write it, then we’ll send it by a raven.”

“The girl seems to think that her brother will not cooperate unless she uses some sort of code in the letter. I think it would be wise to send the first letter without the code, because she could be bluffing. We don’t know what the code will mean and it could prove risky.” Roose stated, definitely not keen on the idea of Moira using a code in the letter to her brother.

Robb’s brows furrowed in thought. “We don’t have the time to keep sending letters back and forth until he agrees, so if it doesn’t work the first time, we’ll have to take the risk with the code.” He muttered, much to Roose’s disliking.

--

“I honestly don’t think you need to guard my door, Lord Theon.” Marinah mused as she began to serve some food onto her plate. She kept her tone light and friendly, as if she wasn’t trying to get the guards away for a reason, but simply for his convenience. “I highly doubt anyone will try to hurt me whilst I’m here. And if anyone tries to sneak into my room at night, I’m sure I can handle it. I’ve had men try to reach where they shouldn’t before.”

She was a little confused by his question about her father; he’d never really spoken to her father, so she wondered why he would care. Perhaps he was just making polite conversation. “He is well, yes. I think he’s momentarily abandoned his search for a husband for me and is instead focusing on finding a wife for my brother.” Marinah chuckled. “That shouldn’t be too hard, my brother isn’t as picky as I am.”

And Kean usually did as he was told, anyway.

“How about your father, hm? You must have been to see him recently, with all of the ironborn around.” She could only imagine how awkward their meeting was. Or perhaps it was filled with love. She doubted it, the only person an ironborn ever loved was himself.

 

[Lucyfer]

Being used to a ship made her quite familiar with balance, and she was light on her feet as she went over to examine the floorboards, always pressing firmly with her booted foot before she would proceed to let the floor take her weight.

A grin cut across her face as one threatened to break under her. ‘Good.’ She didn’t press her luck fully then. She needed to become more accustomed to how these people worked. The noise level at night, compared to day. How studious her guards were – foolish left right outside her door.

At least now, she had an idea of where to begin, and she also had an idea of what was below. The fall would hurt, but she would manage it. ‘Patience, now.’ She had to play the long game. Write their stupid letter to Sebaston, who would either ignore it, or write to Tywin to demand he do something about all the hostages the North was taking.

Tyrion. Jaime. Moira. Not that her name shined as brightly to Lord Lannister, but it would be a reminder that he was not doing his job to protect those that served him.

She paced back to the bed and fell onto it, shutting her eyes. ‘Nor did I.’ Hers, slaughtered. Well, she’d pay Roose back in time. Just as she would Tywin.

~***~

Robb knew that Roose did not often care much for some of his more merciful ways, much as the Young Wolf did not care much for Roose’s more brutal ways. Flaying was outlawed – he had to keep reminding him of it. They also did not have time to waste on games, and part of the reason was his conversation with his mother. “I am going to be leaving you in charge of securing Harrenhal, with the men of the Dreadfort,” he told Roose then.

That meant Roose had to remember his words on this letter situation, “My mother just received word of her father’s state. We have to leave for Riverrun come the morning,” he knew that Roose wouldn’t care for the sentiment. “After that, we’ll press on after Tywin,” at least, that would be the plan. They had Tywin running, fleeing the Riverlands.

They couldn’t give up the advantage now. With luck, Stannis Baratheon would have severely weakened Tywin’s forces, as well. Rumor had it he sailed to King’s Landing. That is likely why Tywin abandoned his post here at Harrenhal.

~***~

‘I’m not afraid that anyone is going to hurt you.’ But the Ironborn boy didn’t say it, just put on a roguish smile as she spoke of defending herself against men who tried to molest her. He wondered how many that was…and how many more hadn’t been stopped. He hardly considered Marinah a proper lady, from rumors.

Like the fact her father stopped trying to find her a good husband, “Perhaps you should tell your lord father about me,” he suggested, though it was made in play, as a tease. He’d take her as a salt wife, certainly, but he knew he could not have her as a true wife.

Not if he was going to live up to his father’s expectations of him. Not if he was going to inherit the Seastone chair.

“My father is well,” he answered, “I did see him recently, along with my sister, Yara.” Whom he resented forever for the way she chose to meet him. “He has given me these men because he trusts me as his son, and they serve me as Prince.” For Balon would be a king. Then, Theon would be a king.

The Iron Chair was nothing compared to the Seastone one.

 

[aintnobaka]

Roose couldn’t find himself to care about the failing health of Hoster Tully, but he did bow his head. “Please give Lord Tully my well wishes.” It was not that he cared about the man, but he was keeping up appearances. It seemed rude not to when the King in the North stood right in front of him.

But the young wolf trusted him with protecting Harrenhal, which he did care about. If he could successfully secure the ruined castle, then he might gain something at the end of the war; his success would reap rewards.

Lord Bolton gave a nod to his liege. “If anything happens, I’ll send word to you immediately.”

--

Even though Theon spoke about his father, Marinah didn’t really listen, even though she stared at him. And once he finished talking, she laughed softly. “Sorry, sorry… I know you were joking, but suggesting that I tell my father about you has really amused me.” Simply because she knew her father would never say yes; he would never allow a man whose loyalty could not be trusted to wed his daughter.

Yet, the thought of it did spark the rebellious side of her. Her father would never allow such a marriage, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have fun with the Greyjoy prince. After all, she loved men with a bad streak. It was perhaps why she’d asked Maran to lace up her dress instead of picking out another one that didn’t require such assistance.

“But yes, I am glad to hear that your father is well.” She didn’t care. “But you say they serve you as a prince?” Marinah raised a brow as she started to eat slowly. “So, when you inherit the… The Salt Throne from your father, you will be king?”

 

[Lucyfer]

Robb would make sure to note that Roose sent such, but from what his mother said, Hoster Tully was not in any state to receive them. He was long past recognizing anything or anyone. He barely woke. He would soon be dead.

That was why they had to leave, or else they would not get to see him off properly. “Thank you. I know I can trust you with this,” Bolton was a man already tempered in the fires of war. He would not fail Robb – not here. “I will send word when we’re ready to move against Tywin once more, or if anything changes.”

Roose would be kept afloat of all events going forward. It would be a shame to lose the Dreadfort army, but it would be better to keep hold of this fortress. It would serve them well. “I’ll see to the preparations of rebuilding this place and dealing with the dead, as well as organizing a meal for the evening,” Robb liked to remain involved, and stepping away from Roose to tend to matters of the dead would allow him to see Talisa again.

Which, speaking of, “Was the Farman injured, Lord Bolton?” She didn’t appear so, but he hadn’t gotten a good look. “I can have Talisa see to her if it is needed.”

~***~

Theon smirked again as she laughed, but at her reasoning for it – that what he said amused her. ‘It doesn’t have to be a joke.’ Except it did, “He’d never agree to it, would he? Well…what he doesn’t know, doesn’t have to hurt him,” he said, as he began to load his own plate up with some of the foods.

He made sure to reach for the pie, and bring it much closer to Marinah, so she would be able to reach it. “I will be King, one day. Perhaps that would make it a better offer,” he said as he picked up the leg of chicken and then bit into it.

Added, after swallowing, “My father is King of the Iron Isles, and I will be the next one,” that’s how these things worked. Dynasties.

True, it wasn’t really how it worked in recent history when they were thralls of the Iron Throne, but no longer. They were throwing off those shackles, for good this time. They’d never be part of any kingdom but their own, and all the mainlanders would be theirs to deal with as they pleased. To reave and ravage as they saw fit, and take the spoils of war.

No sowing. They’d take the foods of those who sowed.

 

[aintnobaka]

Despite the fact that Roose enjoyed that he was put in charge of Harrenhal whilst Robb was away at Riverrun, he wasn’t keen on the armies splitting for a long time. If Tywin Lannister found out that the northern army was split up, he might use that as an excuse to climb his way back through the Riverlands. And that would destroy all of their successes so far.

At the question of Admiral Moira Farman’s health, Roose raised a brow slightly. “She didn’t look injured, but it might be worth checking.” Not that he cared, but if Sebaston Farman found his sister to be injured when she returned to them, he might decide to not pay the ransom money, or pay less than the price stated.

But he would be there if Talisa was sent up to see Moira; he didn’t trust the woman enough to leave a healer who couldn’t defend herself in there alone. And if Talisa was hurt, Robb would be seething. “If you send her up to check on her health, I’ll escort her up to make sure Admiral Farman behaves.”

--

Marinah was certain that her father would still never agree to a marriage between her and Theon Greyjoy, even if the man was going to be the King of the Iron Isles one day. Not many people other than the Ironborn recognised the legitimacy of the Seastone Throne.

“You seem keen on this idea of wedding me, Lord Greyjoy,” Marinah teased as she sipped on the wine in her goblet. “Is there something you wish to tell me?” She chuckled, and she leaned back in her seat.

He was not the kind of man she wanted to marry when the time finally came. Firstly, she wanted a loyal husband, and she didn’t want some self-claimed prince.

“Anyway, I’m sure that your father will choose a wife for you when the time comes. She’ll be ironborn, I imagine.” She shrugged. “My father wouldn’t approve of you, and your father wouldn’t approve of me.” Then, she gave a dramatic sigh. “I suppose we were never meant to be.”