Witch of Winterfell*Game of Thrones*

Chapter Nine

Barren on the other hand is shaking in his boots. "He called her a witch, Malrik. What do you think swords are going to do?"

"Where's your balls, man! Has she taken them from you with just a look?"

Barren gulped, looking between Marina and Malrik.

The latter rolled his eyes. "Leave if you must, coward. I'm going to enjoy this."

Barren sheathed his sword and scrambled out of the room. With one man to face instead of two, Marina felt better knowing she didn't have to exert herself in her current state. Hungry, cold and tired aren't a good mix when fighting to survive.

"So what'll it be girl?" Malrik asked, showing his yellowing teeth with a crooked smile. "You've earned the right to choose how you die."

"A choice?"

"Aye. A quick death or a slow one. I can slit your throat or hang you like the farm boys." He says, moving to stand at the threshold of the cell. "Leave you as a decoration for the Stark pup." He said their house name as if it burned his tongue.

Marina licked her dry lips. "Please leave. I don't want to hurt you."

This time Malrik actually did spit. Saliva and dirt now covered her shoe, an action that didn't need words to convey the meaning. Marina's head tilted to the side with a blank stare.

"I won't be the one hurtin', girl." He spat, taking a step past the threshold of the cell. Because of his burly frame, he nearly takes up half of the tiny cell. His foul breath engulfed Marina's senses, threatening to bring up bile from her stomach.

Without another word Malrik charged with his hands open and outstretched, as if reaching for a pint of ale. His target? Marina's neck. Only, just as his palm could feel the warmth of her breath and the softness of her hair, Marina's powers threw him back into the cell bars. His knees buckled, forcing him onto all fours.

"You bitch!" Malrik hissed, softly dabbing the back of his head.

When he looked down at his calloused fingertips the shock of seeing his blood threatened to knock him off his feet. Ever since he learned how to fight he had never seen an ounce of his blood spilled. The fact that a woman bested him made his blood boil.

"Where is the Maester?" Marina asked, keeping her glowing hand raised as she approached slowly. "What did you do to him?"

Malrik spat at the ground again, a mixture of his blood and saliva. "Dead I hope. Serves him right for sticking his nose where it doesn't belong."

Once she had gotten close enough Malrik threw a handful of dirt and rocks into the unsuspecting witch. A wail left her lips as her eyes began to burn, allowing for the man to have enough time to take advantage of the situation.

In seconds Malrik has Marina pressed against the stone wall of the cell. One hand holding both of hers hostage above her head while the other sat comfortably on the hilt of his sword. From the brunt slam against the wall and the dull sting of dirt that resides in her pupils, Marina is left bleary eyed and winded.

"And it looks like you'll be joinin' em."

The initial shock began to wear off. Although she could still feel pieces of dirt rubbing against the inside of her eyelids, Marina's eyes became accustomed to the sting.

"That'd be too bad. Lord Bolton could have used you to get those damned Stark mutts. The little shits." He grumbled the last of his sentence. "He even said to bring you back alive, but I can't very well do that can I?"

Marina's mind started working in overdrive as his words stirred inside her brain. Lord Bolton wants her alive because he needs her to lure the Stark's back to Winterfell for an easy capture. He couldn't have been talking about Robb because they are at war together, and Robb probably hasn't learned of his treachery yet. Jon isn't a true Stark and Sansa and Arya are in King's Landing.