Fianna Bua, Lady of House Bua, never thought that she'd be riding off to war for the liege lord she hadn't even met.
But oaths are oaths, the Buas have fought alongside the Starks for centuries and she wasn't about to be hailed an oath breaker.
So w...
Ουπς! Αυτή η εικόνα δεν ακολουθεί τους κανόνες περιεχομένου. Για να συνεχίσεις με την δημοσίευση, παρακαλώ αφαίρεσε την ή ανέβασε διαφορετική εικόνα.
Yara
Yara Greyjoy was well accustomed to the smell of her own shit by now. It had been a while since the straw in her cell had been changed, and seeing as she hadn't been given a chamberpot - well, she was forced to adapt to the stench quickly.
She wasn't exactly treated like an honoured guest here at Winterfell, they interrogated her during the waking hours and she could only thank the Drowned God that they hadn't decided to resort to violence and rape to coerce her to speak. Yet.
She heard the Starks were honourable, but she knew if it had been reversed and her father had captured a Stark girl, he wouldn't be against using physical methods for information.
She refused to give them anything. She refused to say why she had chosen Baelfort exactly for an invasion. All she had said was that her father, Balon Greyjoy, was the rightful King of the Iron Islands. And was entitled to rule the North by conquest.
The men who questioned her would often laugh when she recited this time and time again.
"Some conquest, eh?" They would jest. Poking fun at the failure of the siege of Baelfort. But Yara wasn't ashamed. Baelfort may be returned to the Buas but that did not mean the North was safe. One battle doesn't win the war.
Yara had been sat in her rags, poor excuses for clothing, in her cell with her head leaned back against the wall. She didn't even glance up at the sound of her cell opening again, mentally preparing herself for another day of interrogation.
A figure had stepped into her cell, she could see from the corner of her eye, but she still hadn't looked. She never gave them the satisfaction of looking afraid.
"You look a sight, sitting with your own shit as a cellmate, dear sister."
Yara didn't think she'd ever be relieved to hear the high pitched, annoying tone of her younger, failure of a brother. But that belief was bashed today.
Yara looked up instantly, her eyes widening at the sight of Theon standing there, suited in full armour.
"Why would the Starks let you down here?" She questioned disbelievingly, frankly - she wouldn't be surprised if Theon had ran back to the Starks with his tail between his legs and begging for retribution.
"I've done it, I've taken Winterfell," he said proudly, a stupid grin on his face. Yara stood slowly, her face etched with suspicion as she eyed her brother. Her eyes drifted over to the open cell door and the Greyjoy men standing outside of it.
"You? You have taken Winterfell?" Theon was visibly offended by her surprise.
"Don't believe me? March upstairs to see the dead Stark soldiers littering the courtyard then," Yara eyed him carefully, slowly moving out of her cell in case it were a trick. She ventured her way out of the dungeons, her legs burning as she trailed upstairs from her lack of exercise of the last few weeks.
