Savages - LolaStark

Chapter Seventeen

[Fallon]

Contrary to what Robb had told her about the excitement and adventure that was to be her trip to the Stormlands, she found the place very dull indeed. Upon her arrival that morning, she had found one fact out for her own that was not to be disputed.

The Stormlands were in fact named for the fact that it was constantly storming.

Even now as she sat upon her horse, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in her stomach as she avoided the King's strange glances, she felt the rain pouring down on her head unceasingly. She was cold, she thought, very cold and wet and could use a very hot bath administered by the King in the North right about now.

She had sat quietly as she and Catelyn watched the tourney and it's participants. This was the type of sport Robb always talked of, she thought. Sword fighting and jousting, never before had she seen so many people so fond of something that she was bored to tears by.

Some cheered when the men fell, while others cheered when the lances broke. But consistently they all cheered when blood was shed. It was an act, a game to cover up what was truly running through the spectator's minds. Bloodlust. They wanted to see death, for men to bleed and for them to play witness to it. So long as it wasn't war at their doorsteps, they were appeased. This was the war they sought out, not the war she had just seen weeks prior.

Again the stag king was staring at her, and she sighed an uneasy type of sigh as she glanced back at him. Who was this man, this Renly Baratheon, she wondered. She had only heard stories of him, and those stories were many years old as they were told by Catelyn on their journey there. He leaned over and whispered something to a man by his side, who also then looked in her direction and his eyes widened at the sight of her.

"Why is he staring at me?" Fallon whispered and Catelyn looked up to see who she was referring to.

"Perhaps, milady," a knight from behind her said. "He is enthralled by your overwhelming plainness," he said, laughing alongside another knight as well at his ill-humored jest and she shot him a nasty glare.

"Yes," the other knight said. "Mayhaps he fancies the idea of such a plain woman like yourself in his bed."

"Sers!" Catelyn hissed just as Fallon thought she would speak out some foul joke at their expense. "This woman is a lady of the realm. Certainly as a knight of the court you would do well to treat her with the respect she deserves, above your station might I add?"

It was like watching a mother scold her children as both of the knights stopped their laughter at once and looked away, ashamed. Fallon couldn't help but flash the woman a smile. Catelyn then leaned in so she was close to Fallon's ear before speaking.

"I do not know what has Renly Baratheon so intrigued by your presence. But, it seems he is not the only one," the woman whispered and Fallon looked up to see many faces glancing over at her with a confused stare. "Perhaps it will do us well that he is taken with you."

It all made her feel quite uncomfortable and she pulled her hood down a bit more than it already was. But as she glanced up at Renly Baratheon once more, she couldn't help but feel as if there was a familiar glimmer in his eyes, or perhaps the way his mouth curved slightly on the right. Whatever it was, she now felt as if it was she who could not look away.

The tourney seemed to go on for hours, so long that she began to feel her stomach growling and her feet aching from all the standing. Catelyn had made their presence known and their reasoning for their visit and Renly had promptly invited them both and their guard to supper in the great keep of Storm's End.

The castle itself was very impressive. The fortress having been forged during the Dawn Age with the help - or so the legend went - of the children of the forest. Of course she had also heard that it was Bran the Builder - a Stark - who helped the Storm King build the castle and she smiled, knowing Robb always prefered that version of the story.

Fallon welcomed the warmth of the fire in her rooms as she dressed. She stretched out near the fire where her dress dried and let the fire thaw out her soaked skin. She had traded one cold for another, snow for horrid rain, and she wondered how it was that she ever found herself wishing for the long summer to end.

A young girl by the name of Eilean had been placed in her chambers as her maid. Eilean was barely fifteen in age, but was bright beyond her years with a charming smile that caused Fallon to grin when she walked through the doors, hearing her cheerful humming.

"My Lady Fallon," she said with a short curtsey. "His Grace, King Renly, sent this dress for you to wear to the feast this evening."

Fallon stood, furrowing her brow as she observed the fine fabrics Eilean held up near the fire for her to see. The gown was a divine shade a green, something that reminded her fondly of her home. Dark green, Magnar green even, thread was embroidered into the fabric to create exquisite designs that covered the entirety of it. Fallon ran her fingers over it, noting that this dress looked to have been worn at least a few times before and she glanced up at Eileen.

"Who did this belong to?" she asked and Eileen shrugged.

"I know not, My Lady. King Renly just requested that you wear it as he is very fond of a lady in green," Eileen answered and despite the reservations Fallon felt, she had no intentions of insulting the man she promised Robb she'd win over.

"Very well," Fallon said with a smile. "I would be happy to wear it."

There were only a few adjustments made to the bodice which was made for someone with a much larger chest and the waist which seemed to have fitted someone who was more of a woman than Fallon was at eighteen. Eilean made a game of it all, laughing as she lifted the hem and fitted it into some sort of bustle in the front. Whoever this gown had been made for was surely a good few inches taller than Fallon. But once all the adjustments were made, Eilean clapped excitedly and the finished product, fixing the short train so that it would only drag elegantly as she walked across the hall.

The hair was a whole different battle. Eilean tried several times to institute the Southern style into Fallon's dark locks, the raven curls pulled into intricate braids. But each time Fallon would undo most of her work and leave loose her hair that fell elegantly down to her waist. Finally the girl gave up and made a compromise that involved most of Fallon's hair down, and the top part pulled back into a few braids that were then twisted into some fashion that Fallon could not see. She assumed by the triumphant smile as Fallon tried to look at the back of her head in the mirror that the girl had done it on purpose.

By the time the feast was beginning, Eilean then lead her into the hall where Catelyn stood waiting for her, dressed in a lovely Tully blue gown that suited her eyes, Fallon thought. Catelyn's eyes glanced over Fallon's attire and she smiled when she looked back up into the younger girl's eyes.

"You look lovely," she said, grabbing her hand and Fallon felt something rush over her that she hadn't felt in a very long time as the woman held onto her.

It had been some time since she felt this kind of affection. Robb's affection for her, of course, was always warm and satisfying. But Catelyn's touch was that of a mother - something she hardly remembered anymore.

The entered the hall together, walking towards their designated spots for the feast, very near to the king himself. She was seated directly across from him and as soon as she sat down in her chair she saw his eyes widen in disbelief.

"Your Grace," she said politely, though the words said to any man other than Robb did not sit right with her.

"My Lady Fallon," he replied, adjusting his crown as he then reached for her hand across the table. "We are honored to receive you and Lady Stark here to feast with us this night. Tomorrow, we will discuss the terms of the proposed alliance. But tonight, we celebrate."

"What do we celebrate?" she asked, pulling her hand slowly back to her lap.

"What is there not to celebrate?" he laughed and raised his goblet to the table. "To our honored guests," he said and all across the hall she heard the clanking of goblets.

"Here, here!" the people shouted and slowly she rose hers as well and gave him an appreciative bow of her head.

The first course was served and Renly spent most of it asking about her youth. She told him briefly of her family, of her home that was now being ravaged by those that had attempted to end the lives of all the Magnar line. He seemed more concerned than she would have previously imagined. His wife, the beautiful Margaery Tyrell, suggested that they perhaps send aid to Skagos and Fallon very nearly jumped at the offer. It was Catelyn who grabbed her hand beneath the table as if to warn her against such a proposal.

After the feast there was dancing - much of it. Fallon, however, didn't know any Southern dances, but admired the elegant movements and graceful footwork. Margaery was a fine dancer, the kind that had most likely spent all her youth perfecting each step. Each of the men she danced with kept up with her step for step and their queen would thank them with her laughter and pretty smiles. But when she danced with her husband, it was clear to Fallon that the marriage had been an arranged one. There was no harmony between their bodies, even though they both were exceptional at the art of dancing. It was clear, too, that they did not love each other.

It made her wonder if anyone had observed Fallon and Robb dancing before, and if it had been clear by their subtle touches and smiles that they were in love.

Ser Loras had been the first to offer her a dance. She politely declined, however, explaining that she would only embarrass him with her lack of knowledge of the Southern style. He was a fine young man, very fitting for any young woman though none seemed to catch his eye. He kissed her hand lightly and moved on, and Fallon noticed the favor the Storm king showed the young knight.

His older brother Ser Garlan, however, would not take her ignorance for an excuse and all but dragged her on the dance floor where he proceeded to teach her every step to the next three songs that passed. It didn't take her long to realize there was something oddly familiar about him. She knew his eyes, she decided. Something about the shape and the smile she could see within them.

He was a tall man, not too many years older than herself. He had a very similar mouth to his younger brother, but that was where the comparison seemed to end. While Loras was beautiful with his smooth skin and straight smile, like a knight in a bard's song, Garlan was breathtakingly handsome and very much a man. He was taller than Loras and bulkier in his build. He had a short beard - like Robb's stubbled jaw - on his chin and a smirk that played upon his lips each time she would miss a step in her movements. He held her tightly at her waist and the steps soon became easier. It was easier to pick up on the movements to these slower dances than it was to the ones in the North.

"You are a fine dancer, My Lady," he said, his voice strong and his golden eyes sparkling in a way that made her face heat up and she looked away to hide her blush. "To think I almost let you sit out on this wondrous occasion."

"Thank you Ser Garlan," she replied politely. "I, too, am glad you have had the patience to teach me."

"I spotted you right away, you know," he told her quietly. "It is hard to miss a beauty as fine as you. Something about the confidence in your movements, the way you hold your chin and your eyes. You have an array of attractive traits, if I may be so bold."

"That is very bold, Ser," she said as she attempted to hide her blush but he only grinned wider.

"Many have told me how the King is enraptured by your beauty," he whispered and she could see Renly watching her from across the room as she gazed over Garlan's shoulder. "Now I see it to be true."

"I've heard many of his other men say he is enthralled by my plainness," she joked and she heard him laugh heartily. "I've learned to embrace the plainness of my appearance, Ser, fore I have many more amiable qualities that mask it. Surely, your king is enraptured my by sense of wit - or perhaps my tales of battle."

"I did not mean, Renly Baratheon, My Lady," he said, his breath tickling her ear and her smile faded slightly. She looked up into his eyes and noticed a mysterious flash of something she could not name. "I was referring to your Young Wolf, the King in the North," he whispered then and she nearly gasped.

"Ser Garlan-" she started to say but he placed his index finger over her lips.

He grabbed her hand then, leading her out of the hall and into the corridor, searching for a secluded space. She wasn't sure why she let him do such a thing, especially with so many prying eyes. But curiosity overwhelmed her, and she simply followed. They stopped at a small round room, lit dimly by it's fireplace and the flashes of lightning from the storm thrashing against the windows. There were black and yellow tapestries hung on the walls, most with images of the Baratheon stag on them.

"I have heard much about you Fallon Magnar," he said her eyes travelled from the tapestries to his golden eyes.

"What have you heard of someone like me?" she asked. "Especially since I know nothing of you."

"I know that you are Drystan Magnar's chosen daughter, though you are not born of his blood," he said and her eyes widened. "I know that, per your customs, you go into battle by your King's side, and your skill with a spear is unmatched upon most. I know that your family is being hunted and killed for reasons you know not. And I know you betrothed the King in the North to young Roslyn Frey, despite the fact that you love him."

Her breaths were heavy then, her head swimming with private thoughts that were now being spoken by a man who was but a stranger to her. She tried to think, to discern his motives as she stood there, watching his hands, his eyes and his steps. Whatever he wanted, she was not safe and she had let him pull her away from any witness to what would happen now.

She turned then to run, but he caught her quickly, holding her to him, covering her mouth as she tried to shout out and she felt fear rising in her.

"Shhh," he hushed in her ear. "I am not here to harm you," he insisted and he didn't loosen his grip until she stopped struggling against him. It was several moments before he removed his hand from her mouth, waiting to see if she would try to run again or scream out for help. "I give you my word, My Lady. I do not seek to bring you harm. My only wish is to help you."

"How?" she asked, catching her breath. "How do you know these things?"

"Quite easily actually," he told her, nonchalantly. "I do not have much time to explain here, as I'm sure one of Renly's brutes will come after me soon enough. But you can trust me. I serve the King in the North, though he does not know it yet."

"Tell me how you know these things about me," she insisted and he smiled.

"It isn't that interesting of a story really," he joked. "Kipling Ashford recruited me to ensure his daughter's safety was being upheld. I traveled many miles to watch over Kathryn, discovering her many indiscretions along the way."

"Why did he ask you?" she asked him, confused. "Your house is overlord over Ashford."

"Yes but Lord Ashford keeps a very important secret for my family. In return, this simple favor was asked and my father insisted I was to oversee its undertaking," he explained, looking over her shoulder towards the door as he lowered his voice.

"What secret?" she asked skeptically, lowering her eyes.

"If I were to tell you it wouldn't be much of a secret now would it?" he said in an almost playful manner that caused another jolt of familiarity to rise within her. Suddenly the look in his eyes and his tone became as clear as a memory.

"You were at Winterfell," she gathered, realizing now how she had come to recognize him.

"Yes, disguised as a peasant," he admitted proudly, with a small laugh. "I saw after the fields, brought in the grains to the castle. I was very good at avoiding Kathryn who had of course met me many times over the years. Though of course she isn't hard to avoid with her nose always in the air. You on the other hand-."

"I notice everyone," she finished for him and he nodded.

"I did wonder how long it would take you to remember me," he said with a cheeky grin. "We spoke a handful of times. You always were quite friendly with the peasants."

"You made me something once," she recalled. "It was the crown of flowers at the Winter Festival. I remember because Robb-" she paused, realizing the familiarity in her tone. "Because His Grace asked who had given it to me. I realized then I didn't even know your name."

"I have watched you for a long while Fallon. Kathryn was ruining herself with that Greyjoy boy, defiling her family name. But you were the opposite. You thrived there."

"It is hard to be flattered, Ser, when you tell me you watched me for so long. Does it not seem strange to you, you spying on me for months? Why did you do it?"

"You were beautiful," he said as if it were obvious and she frowned at his answer and his playful tone. "Do not sour your face, My Lady. Many men do not appreciate true beauty as I do."

"Please do not continue to waste my time, Ser," she said impatiently, rolling her eyes as he spoke, and he chuckled.

"And," he added. "The familiarness of your beauty drew me in as well. I knew I had seen your face before. It took me months to work it out, but the night of the festival I knew. You were a Baratheon."

"You are indeed mistaken," she said quickly, shaking her head. "I am not a-"

"Yes, Fallon. You are. I should have seen it when Robert visited Winterfell. I was there, I saw him look at you and I should have known. Have you not seen the way Renly looks at you, the way his entire household stares?"

All time seemed to cease then. Her chest did not raise or fall for she had forgotten how to breathe. The simple action of intake of breath seemed all at once impossible as she reached out for his arm to steady herself. Surely she had heard wrong, she thought. She could feel herself shaking her head, willing it not to be true but the words were there.

"But I - I have seen him. I do not look anything like the man," she explained, raising her voice. "Perhaps his hair was once as black as mine but other than that-"

"Not Robert, no. And lucky you are that you do not bare his resemblance."

"Then how?"

"Cassana, his mother, Renly's mother," Garlan explained. "That is her dress you wear. I saw it in a portrait in his study. Renly asked that you wear it, did he not?"

She looked down at the fabric she had spent so long admiring and noted it's color. She had noticed the Estermont sigil embroidered into the sleeve but had thought nothing of it until now. Until Garlan Tyrell told her it belonged to Renly's mother.

"I cannot-" she tried to say but her throat was swollen as she held back the emotion that was threatening to come through. "Why are you telling me this? Are you going to have me killed? I've heard about Robert's bastards in the capital. Is that why you've brought me here?"

"Do I look capable of such evil?" he asked with a small smile, his hand on her cheek and her eyes darted over him nervously. She did not know whether or not he looked capable but how could she trust him? "My weakness, sweet Fallon, is that I love beautiful women. I could never bring you harm. Especially since I seek to serve your lover."

"I do not know what to think of you. I do not know anything about you other than you spent months spying on me."

"I watched you, Fallon, because I knew you were important. It seems as though you are the only one who does not know how important," he said, wiping her tears.

"How can I trust you?" she asked him in a strangled whisper. "How do I know you aren't going to drag me before the court and order my death?"

"Because it was not only you I watched, My Lady," he explained. "I watched your King in the North as well. And he fights for freedom, for justice. He fights for a cause that is my own as well. My family is a bargaining chip, the backing of this war that has been started and whoever holds that chip, might just win."

"And you think the Tyrells will back the North?"

"You came here to persuade them, did you not?"

"I came here to persuade Renly," she corrected and his smirk reappeared.

"And where do you think Renly draws most of loyalty?"

It was all too much, she thought. Her mind was being pulled in too many directions that she couldn't discern what was real anymore. Garlan Tyrell was standing her telling her things that seemed impossible. But the more they sat in her mind, the more she could reason them to be true. Her father had been sentenced to death because of the secret he knew. What bigger secret than that of the King's?

Suddenly her thoughts were interrupted and she was pushed against the wall, Garlan's mouth covering her own and immediately she thought to fight back. But he was bigger and much stronger than her. Her body did not budge under his larger one and she wondered if all of his words had simply been a guise for him to take advantage of her. He had, in fact, spouted off about her beauty. Perhaps, she thought, he had brought her here to ravage her - spinning stories about royal bastards and playing the peasant. But then she heard a voice that interrupted her fears as Garlan's mouth moved roughly over hers.

"Oh! Ser Garlan, Lady Fallon, pardon my intrusion," the voice said and Garlan's mouth broke from hers quickly and both of them turned, out of breath, to see Renly's squire Robar Royce standing near at the door with a surprised expression. "His Grace requests your presence for the last dance, My Lady."

She looked up at Garlan, who gave her a subtle nod. He had not attacked her, she realized as she straightened her dress and walked towards Ser Robar. He had saved them from being discovered. Naturally men would understand a lover's tryst, but Renly had most likely send Robar to find out if Garlan was plotting against him, which he was. Despite the fact that all this news was overwhelming her beyond belief, she had to hand it to the man.

Garlan Tyrell was a genius.

[Robb]

He had been wounded.

The wound wasn't deep enough to be of worry, he'd said, but without Fallon or his mother to tell the men how to handle these situations, they seemed to operate under the rule that they couldn't be overly cautious when it came to his health.

It had been Aenys Frey's arrow that had given him the wound that the nurse was currently cleaning. Only a handful of men saw it. The battle had nearly been won when Aenys had released an arrow in his direction, a smile on his face as Robb dodged it as best as he could. It had still lodged itself in his arm.

He had later apologized, telling him he had been mistaken in thick of the battle, his aim not being what it used to be in his older age. Robb had of course told him all was forgiven, while simultaneously adding two new members to his kingsguard to keep watch over him when Aenys was around.

"All finished, Your Grace," the girl said with a smile and for the first time he looked into the eyes of the girl who had tended to his injury.

She was a fine enough young woman, not quite as old as he was but old enough to tell that she was no longer a child. She had warm features,

"Thank you," he whispered. "What is your name?"

She smiled shyly.

"Lady Jeyne, of House Westerling."

"Ah, so it is your castle I have captured then?" he asked in a poor attempt at a joke that he suddenly regretted. But she did not seem to mind.

"How long should we expect your stay, Your Grace?" she asked eagerly and he wasn't sure how to answer, knowing nothing of this girl except that she was the daughter of one of Tywin's allies.

He didn't have a chance to answer, however, as he was interrupted by a loud growling near the tent flap where Grey Wind had returned and caught sight of Jeyne. He rarely saw Grey in such a state. Outside of battle he was just like any other dog with his quirks and tail wagging. But every once in a while he would encounter a person who Grey just didn't seem to warm to.

This girl seemed to be one of them.

"Oh," Jeyne said, standing quickly and hiding behind Robb. She lightly grabbed his arms in the process as she peeked out from behind him. "I have never seen such an animal," she said, shaking in fear and he looked back to the Direwolf whose teeth were exposed and his hair on his back standing straight.

"Grey!" he shouted, tossing a rolled up pile of bandages in his direction and the wolf slunk down to avoid them. "Enough."

"Doesn't like strangers does much he?" she asked when Grey Wind trotted outside, stationing himself in the snow with his head on his paws as he watched her movements carefully.

"He is protective of me," Robb said simply, cringing at the ache in his arm.

She was at his side immediately, adjusting the bandage and massaging he wound with her small hands. She seemed young, perhaps the same age as Kathryn at only sixteen. It wasn't just her hands that were small, he realized. She was very thin for a girl of her age. Her hips were narrow and her chest carrying a very small bosom. Fallon was a small girl, he reminded himself. But she had a woman's curves as well as a woman's bosom.

He had done his best to not think of her since she had departed a few weeks prior. But as the battle raged on, her letters had stopped and he knew the both of them were too busy to exchange lover's words in the middle of a war. But he couldn't help but long for her comforting words and, even more so, for her touch.

"My Lady, I will have my squire, Olyvar, escort you home," he insisted and she placed a hand on his forearm.

"I am honored to be at your service," she said,a gleam in her brown eyes that made him shift his stance.

She bowed then and walked out of the tent, leaving him alone for only a moment with his thoughts. They were soon interrupted by Rowan, who ran in with a wild look about him and a bloodied lip. Grey too was on his feet, bounding off in the direction Magnar had come from.

"What is it?" he said, his stomach sinking slightly.

"You must come quickly," Rowan replied, panting as he ran back towards the field not far from the tent and Robb followed as quickly as the pain would allow him.

It didn't take him long to see what the commotion was, many men formed in crowd and the sounds of shouts ringing out. When he came closer he saw that it was Broden Magnar in the midst of it, fighting with many of Robb's bannermen, Smalljon Umber being one of them. He was on the receiving end of one of Broden's punches, and then was relieved from said blows when Cley Cerwyn pulled Broden off and shoved him to the ground.

"Enough!" Robb shouted, holding his arm. "What is this madness?!"

"He's a traitor Your Grace!" the Greatjon shouted, his arms cross. "I told you them Magnar scum weren't worth the shite on the bottom of your boots. And now here is the proof."

"What?!" Robb asked and one of the men then lunged for Rowan who swung first and threw the man to the ground as he then reached to help his brother up. "Someone tell me what is going on before I have the lot of you throne in the stocks!"

It was Roose Bolton who walked over slowly, handing Robb a bit of parchment that had an official seal of King's Landing on the edge. He looked at Robb with a solemn expression and watched as he unrolled it and read it for himself.

"It is a royal letter, Your Grace. From King's Landing. It states that the Magnar family has been plotting the destruction of your family for some time," Roose said quietly.

"Lies!" Broden shouted but Robb held up his hand.

The letter surely did tell of the Magnar family and their plot to gain back their power and their kingdom. Joffrey wrote of several letters that were now in his possession, twelve in all that mentioned a devised plot to gain the trust of Robb and the Northmen before a timely assassination once their kingdom was restored. All the letters were said to have been correspondence between Broden, Rowan and Fallon.

Fallon, he thought. She would never.

"It is clearly stated, that the Magnars - Lords Broden, Rowan and Lady Fallon were colluding in the plot of your death as well as those of several of your family members, Your Grace," Roose informed him and Robb glared up at the man with the eyes that were cold like death.

"I read the letter, Lord Bolton, I see what Joffrey has accused them off," Robb said steadily. "But there is no proof. Where are these letters that he speaks of?"

"Here milord!" a man said, a rider who was young, wearing the colors of Lannister red and gold. "King Joffrey sent these as well, says these are the originals - that copies were made an' kept for their trial."

"Trial?" he said.

"Yes, milord, the King has sent for their arrests. They are to be brought to King's Landing for a trial, to face their crimes of not only plotting against you, but against the King of the Seven Kingdoms."

"Fallon," Broden whispered, stepping towards Robb, but was grabbed by two men holding him back. "Your Grace!" he shouted urgently, and Robb knew that if a rider had come to collect them, it was only a matter of time before they went after Fallon in the Stormlands as well.

"Hand me the letters," Robb said quickly, trying to steady his shaking hands before grabbing them and he examined the writing, and the language they were written in. "These are the original letters you said, messenger?" he asked and the boy nodded.

"Yes, sire, Grand Maester Pycelle has done much research on the language of the Old Tongue to ensure their authenticity. He reads it fluently."

"Fluently?" Robb asked skeptically.

"That parchment is not from Skagos, nor from anywhere in the North," Rowan argued angrily. "And as fine a 'copy' as it is, neither I nor my brother write with such a refined hand as the Grand Maester."

Robb glanced again at the handwriting and noted the strokes of the letter that was said to be Rowan's. It was similar in fashion but it was not a match. Fallon had used several of Rowan's letters to help him learn the Old Tongue when they were back at Winterfell. The words were familiar but the handwriting was not.

"The Skaggs are liars, trying to save their own hides!" one of the soldiers shouted and it was only a moment before he saw Bard Friel reach around and offer the man a stiff fist to the jaw.

"Fallon is loyal to you Stark, and we are loyal to her. She is our Nighean," Bard said, his tone implying that he knew of the girl's feelings for her king. "She made us see that you are a King worth being followed. And one that we would never betray so long as he never betrayed us."

Robb looked at the group of warriors from Skagos, the men that fought by his side and for his cause without question. These were the same men who had called him King. He was not their Magnar, but they treated him as one. As proud as the Skagosi were, they were not traitors. Nor was Fallon. He looked down at the parchment, looking at her name written in the sideways script as he tried to piece together the mystery. And then a memory came to him.

"Messenger," he said then and the boy perked up eagerly. "Where did Joffrey obtain these letters?"

The boy looked away momentarily, just as Robb expected he would. Robb then glanced at Broden.

"Do you recall that night in the forest, the night you told us about the raids, you said you'd sent many letters to Fallon that went unanswered, did you not?" he asked and Broden seemed to recall the memory as well.

"Yes, Fallon said she'd never received them. Were they never retrieved?" Broden replied and Robb shook his head.

Someone had taken the letters upon their arrival and had sent them to King's Landing in hopes that they would contain damning information about the Magnars. He knew well enough that someone had been attempting to erase the Magnar line from existence, but who at Winterfell would have intercepted the letters and sent them now? It had been nearly a year since those letters were written. Why now?

"Boy," Roose Bolton was growling at the messenger, grabbing him by his neck. "You tell His Grace who sent those letters, or you'll go home without that hand of yours."

The boy was frightened and shaking as he glanced up at Robb who wanted to stop Roose's threats but also wanted answers. When it was clear he was not going to stop the older man, the boy started to speak, though his words only came out as strangled whispers from the constriction of his throat hin Roose's hands.

"Loosen your hold Bolton," Robb commanded and Roose reluctantly did as he was told. "Again, tell me again who sent those letters."

"I only know," he said, pausing as he gasped for air. "Only know that they were sent. To Lord Ashford. He wanted to. Trade. The information for, something. I know not. Please Milord, I know nothing more," he finished and Roose dropped him to the ground where the boy held his neck desperately.

"Likely to trade for his daughter you still hold captive," Roose assumed and Robb nodded.

"Kathryn," he whispered as if the name was a bad taste in his mouth. "Kathryn stole the letters."

"And when Joffrey received them," Roose finished. "He took the opportunity to divide our loyalties."

"Send some of your men to Winterfell, make sure she doesn't send anything else," Robb said and Roose nodded.

"I'll send my bastard. He'll keep her in line," the man said darkly.

"Be sure that he keeps her in unharmed. I still need her as a hostage."

Roose nodded and walked off towards his tent, most likely to jot down a letter of instruction to his bastard who'd been dubbed, the Bastard of the Dreadfort. Robb had heard nasty tales of the boy who was nearly his own age, but he'd never met him. Robb had grown up knowing Domeric Bolton before his untimely death. He knew the rumors, that perhaps the bastard Ramsay had a hand in it. But so long as Kathryn remained unharmed, he had no reason to fear.

"Umber, prepare a scouting party, make sure none of Joffrey's men are lurking about. I want you held responsible if men seeking a bounty for the Magnars make it into our camp," Robb announced sternly and the Greatjon nodded, not bothering to look back with an apology to the men he'd previously accused just moments prior.

"Robb," Rowan whispered eagerly, stepping forward once most of the remaining men had dispersed, leaving on the Skagosi warriors waiting for their instructions. "I will go after Fallon," he announced and Broden immediately pulled her back.

"No, if anyone is to go after her," the elder brother said. "It will be me. I promised Father I'd keep her safe and I failed."

"They are hunting our heads, and now we know why," Rowan whispered. "We've all heard the rumors about Robert Baratheon's bastards being slaughtered in the capital. They are slaying the Magnars to keep this secret quiet. That means they know who Fallon is, and they will not stop until she is dead."

The words made Robb sick, knowing that someone was hunting the woman he loved. He thought of the war, of what his father would say if he were here and what action he would take. But the more and more he thought about it, the less certain he was of what was right. Robb would do anything, even if it meant destroying himself to ensure her safety.

"The three of us will ride out at sundown," he said then and both brothers looked at him as if he were mad.

"You cannot be serious, Robb," Rowan said in disbelief. "You cannot leave the men. Without you, this army will fall, this war is all for naught-"

"And without Fallon, I will fall," he said angrily. "I will not leave her to chance. If you go, I go with you."

"Rider!" came a loud shout, his squire Olyvar, from the hill behind them.

He waved him over and Robb knew that the panic in the man's voice meant there was some urgency to his shout. He ran up the hill, the mud-mixed snow crunching and sloshing beneath his boots. When he reached the top he saw that there was a lone rider, carrying no sigil but a white piece of cloth as he held his reins tightly and Robb held his hands up to his archers who looked at the ready to shoot him down should that be his command.

"Your Grace!" the man shouted once he steadied his horse and he pulled back the hood, exposing his face to them and he held his right arm up to show he was no danger. His left hand, however was holding tightly to his side and when the archer's pulled back their arrows he man lifted his other hand and Robb saw that it was not a weapon he was reaching for, but a wound he was holding. "I mean no harm."

"Name yourself, stranger," Olyvar shouted and Robb soon felt that Rowan and Broden were standing close behind him.

"My name is Ser Garlan Tyrell," he said, catching his breath as he held his side once again, cringing from the pain of whatever wound he was nursing.

"Are you a Tyrell pledged to Renly?" Robb asked but he shook his head.

"I am a Tyrell pledged to you, Your Grace," he said loudly for them all to hear and Robb instructed to archers to lower their weapons.

"What business brought you here? Did my mother send you?" Robb asked and slowly the knight nodded.

"Renly Baratheon is dead, murdered by Stannis' witch, the red priestess Melisandre," he told him and he held back a cry of pain as he dismounted his horse. "Your mother travels here presently, along with Brienne of Tarth, one of Renly's former Kingsguard."

"And Lady Fallon Magnar, you've heard of her? She was traveling with my mother to Storm's End," Robb said quickly, walking down the hill so he could better see the man bearing such news.

"I'm afraid that is how I have come to be wounded, Your Grace," he said, crouching down to one knee as he tried to regain his strength to stand. "Men came for her in the night. I heard her screams and was stabbed trying to free her."

Robb was now looking down at the man who looked to have been through hell to get here. His tunic was slashed and his side was still bleeding despite the bandages he had placed there. His eyes were tired and Robb wondered if he had ridden without rest to reach him here. It would have taken nearly a week. And Robb also couldn't help but wonder why.

"Was she injured as well?" Robb asked, panic arising and Garlan shook his head, easing Robb's worry.

"No. At least, not before she was taken," he whispered raggedly.

"What do you mean? Where is she?" Broden shouted and Garlan looked as if he was doing all in his power simply to stay conscious.

"I did my best to follow but I am afraid I cannot be sure," he said through his struggled breaths. "My best guess, is that she is on a ship, on her way to Dragonstone."

"Dragonstone?" Broden asked. "Why?"

"Because," Garlan whispered as his eyes began to close. "It is Lord Stannis who has taken her prisoner."

[Gendry]

It was the first time he'd ever been on a ship, he thought, and already he was wishing for dry land. He didn't like the way the boat rocked back and forth, back and forth through the shifting waves nor did he like the sounds it made as the waves broke over the helm. It creaked loudly, like the old unsturdy house he lived in back in Flea Bottom.

He also didn't like the time as it passed and watching that with every passing minute the girl that was lying in the cell next to his, had still not awoken since she'd been thrown in there. The top of her forehead was covered in blood, though her black hair made it difficult to see how extensive the wound actually was. Her lip was cut also, a long, thick line of blood splitting the corner of the bottom of her mouth.

He couldn't see her eyes but he could see that she was a pretty thing, perhaps around his age if he had to guess. She had been brought in shortly after him and just before they'd set sail to wherever it was that they were going. She was lying in a fine gown made of grey silk that hung off the shoulders only slightly and he wondered if she was a highborn like the lord of the ship.

Gendry had been fine with his life, the way it was going when the Red Priestess had taken him hostage in the forest. He had finally settled on a lifestyle he could be proud of and a cause that would be his own.

But now he was stuck on this boat, traded for a few coins, the value of which he didn't even have the privilege of knowing. He was a prisoner to this ship and the the highborn Lord who the witch had bought him for. And now, it seemed as though this girl, too, was sold as well - though her attainment looked a little more hostile than his.

He sat there, holding his stomach as he tried to ignore the churning sounds coming from it and the sickness that seemed to come and go over the last few hours. He could only sit and stare at her or the hay covered ground, and he thought as long as she was asleep and unbothered, she was a much better sight than the filthy floor.

It was a few hours into their journey, sometime after a tall rugged man came to check on her and left, when she started to stir. He watched as her eyes blinked open and her hand immediately shot to her head as she groaned out in pain. It took her a while to sit up, and several more moments after before she noticed his presence and she looked at him in surprise.

"Hello," he said, raising his hand off of his knee slightly to wave but this only seemed to confuse her more.

"Where are we?" she whispered,, her voice hoarse as she looked around the small space they were being held. "Are we on a ship?" she asked and he nodded, looking around at the aged beams.

"Not a very sturdy one, it seems," he said, shrugging and she tried to stand. "Oh I wouldn't do that if-" he tried to warn her before she bumped her head on the unusually low ceiling of the cell before falling back to her knees.

"Damn!" she cursed loudly, holding her head now in a different spot where she'd bumped it and despite the ill-fated situation they were in, Gendry couldn't help but crack a smile.

"If it makes you feel any better, I did the same thing about an hour ago," he explained but she didn't smile, only placed her small hands around the bars to test the strength. "Tried that too," he added. "Pretty strong, those bars. No chance of us 'scaping I'm afraid."

"Do you know where we are sailing?" she asked, crawling towards him so that she was sitting next to him, the bars between them their only barrier.

"No, sorry. I wasn't exactly recruited to help get us there, was I?" he said chuckling. "I know the ship belongs to some fancy lord."

"What is your name?" she asked him, rubbing her mouth and feeling the dried blood on her lip.

"Gendry, from Flea Bottom," he told her and her nose scrunched slightly at the name in a manner that made him smile.

"What in the world is a Flea Bottom?" she asked a small grin in the unmarred side of her pink mouth.

"It's one of the dodgier slums in the capital," he said offhandedly. "Pretty damn disgusting if you ask most people. Smells to high heaven."

"It's just-," she whispered, moving her hand to his forehead and brushing his hair back from his eyes. "You look like someone I know. How old are you?"

"Eighteen," he told her.

"The same as me," she said, and for the first time he noticed how green her eyes were as they seemed to search for something on his features. Aside from the cuts on her face, Gendry realized she really was more than a pretty girl, she was quite beautiful with her olive skin and charcoal hair. It was dark like the midnight sky, black like the soot on his hands after a long day at the smith.

"And you, what is your name?" he asked her, finding her more curious by the second. "You look like a 'milady' in that fine dress of yours. You a highborn?"

"Not anymore," she replied cryptically and Gendry had no idea what she meant. But she then reached her hand through the bars and placed it in his. "Fallon," she said finally and he took her soft hand, staking it firmly. "From Skagos."

Gendry had once heard of Skagos in a story told to him when he was a boy. He'd heard that only demons and hags ruled that land, cannibals of the night. But this girl before him was certainly no hag. And he started to wonder how many other stories from his boyhood were false as well.

"Do you really eat the hearts of maidens where you come from? It sounds so very savage." he asked and all her sorrow seemed to leave her eyes then and she let out a great laugh.

And for the first time since he'd set foot on the ship, the uneasiness in his stomach seemed to be a peace.

For now.

A/N: But be proud, I literally wrote this all today from start to finish. So it's probably stock full of typos. Be kind. Hopefully you enjoyed it. I've been working on this and my other story "Undone" at the same time so I have to be careful not to cross over plots. If you have a sec, tell me what you thought. Meanwhile I'll be swooning over Garlan, who I can't stop picturing as Jamie Dornan. Sigh. Thanks for all the wonderful reviews on the last chapter by the way! I am so excited to see your reactions about Fallon being Robert's daughter. I'll get more into that fiasco later. Thanks again you amazing people….xoLola