[Outside Oxcross]
Thunder rumbled through the darkness. It was raining at the gold cloak encampment. Two gold cloaks were arguing over who was the best fighter.
"It's got to be the Mountain. He's the biggest. He's the strongest." The first man said.
"Bulls are bigger than lions. Doesn't mean I'd pick a bull in a fight." The other replied.
"If the bull had fangs and claws, I would. Right, the Mountain or our man Jaime."
"If he ever gets out."
"Loras Tyrell?"
"Loras Tyrell. He's prettier than the Queen."
"I don't care about pretty. He's better with a sword than any of them."
"How good could he be? He's been stabbing Renly Baratheon for years, and Renly ain't dead."
They laughed, and a horse neighed nervously.
"The horses seem a little spooked to you? They're horses."
"They get spooked by their own shadows."
"Shh. Do you hear that?"
"No." The first man replied.
"There's something out there."
The soldiers both stood to investigate the darkness. They moved forward cautiously, until the second man lets out a loud fart. The first jumped, and his companion laughed raucously.
"Oh. Oh, you're a right little prick. You should see your face."
"I swear you pissed yourself. "Oh, who goes there? Ahh!"
"There is something out there."
"Yeah, don't even try me."
"Rennick." The first man called.
"Do you think I'm an idiot?"
"Rennick!"
The first guard drew his sword. A direwolf leapt from the darkness and attacked Rennick, who screamed as he came face to face with King Robb Stark.
Robb and his Northern men sat quietly on their horses, listening as a pack of wolves descended upon the Lannister men.
"King in the North!" One man chanted.
"The King in the North!" The others chorused in reply.
[The Battlefield, The Next Morning]
The Northern forces had completed their assault on the encampment. The field was scattered with bodies and wounded men in the mist. Horses neighed and soldiers cried out in pain.
Lord Roose Bolton and Robb walked through the aftermath, followed by a handful of Northern soldiers.
"Five Lannisters dead for every one of ours. They're dead. Take everything they've got. We've nowhere to keep all these prisoners. Barely enough food to feed our own." Roose told him.
"We're not executing prisoners, Lord Bolton."
"Of course, Your Grace. The officers will be useful. Some of them may be privy to Tywin Lannister's plans."
"I doubt it."
"Well, we'll learn soon enough. In my family, we say, "A naked man has few secrets. "A flayed man none.""
"My father outlawed flaying in the North."
"We're not in the North."
"We're not torturing them."
"The high road's very pretty, but you'll have a hard time mqrching your army down it."
"The Lannisters hold prisoners of their own. I won't give them an excuse to abuse my sister."
As the sun rose over the blood-soaked fields of the Battle of Oxcross, Princess Morgana Baratheon and her loyal handmaiden, Sirena, worked tirelessly to tend to the injured bannermen of House Stark. The young princess had fled King's Landing with her life and a small bag of precious herbs from her garden, which she knew would prove invaluable in healing the wounds of war.
Morgana had brought with her a small pouch filled with her own personal herbs from her garden back in Kings Landing, which she had carefully cultivated with the permission of her father, King Robert, and her mother, Queen Cersei. These herbs were known for their healing properties and had proven to be quite useful in treating the injuries sustained by the Stark soldiers.
With gentle hands, Morgana mixed the herbs into poultices and salves, applying them to the wounds of the fallen men. She worked alongside Sirena, who assisted her in dressing the wounds and changing bandages. Despite the chaos and destruction around them, the two women moved with a quiet efficiency, their movements almost meditative as they focused on their work.
Morgana whispered soothing words and offered comfort to those who were struggling to find solace in the midst of chaos. Her presence seemed to bring a sense of peace to the soldiers, and they looked up at her with gratitude in their eyes.
She looked up at the sound of nearing footsteps.
Just as they were finishing up their work, a tall figure emerged from the distance, his armor dusty and worn. It was Robb Stark, Morgana's betrothed, and he looked weary and tired but alive. He approached the two women, his eyes scanning the field before finally settling on them. Beside him was a man neither woman recognized.
"My lady," he said, bowing low to Morgana. "I see you have already begun tending to our wounded. How many have we lost?"
"Not as many as I feared," Morgana replied, her voice steady despite the worry etched on her face. "But there are still many who need your help."
Though, one look at the sigil on the man's vest told her exactly who the man was.
Morgana was immediately struck by a sense of unease upon meeting the Lord of the Dreadfort. She felt a chill run down her spine as their eyes met. There was something about him that made her skin crawl, but she knew better than to show it. She had learned from her mother, Queen Cersei, how to mask her true feelings behind a veil of politeness and grace.
Sirena, too, felt a bad feeling about Roose Bolton, but she kept her thoughts to herself. She had grown fond of Morgana over the years and would do anything to protect her. As the two women tended to the soldier's wounds, they exchanged subtle glances, both of them aware of their discomfort around the manipulative lord.
Morgana didn't trust Roose Bolton, and she could tell that Sirena felt the same way. But they said nothing, knowing that their words might only serve to further strain the already tenuous alliance between their families.
"So, you must be the famous Princess Morgana," Bolton said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he stood before them. "I have heard much about your beauty and grace, but I confess, I find it hard to believe that such a delicate flower could survive in this brutal world."
Morgana met his gaze squarely, her heart pounding in her chest. There was something cold and calculating about this man, something that made her want to distance herself from him as quickly as possible. But duty bound her to remain here, to do what she could to help her future husband's army.
The two men bid their farewells and continued walking through the carnage, Morgana and Sirena watching them go.
Morgana turned to Sirena and whispered, "Do you feel it too? That...unease?"
Sirena nodded subtly, her eyes darting towards the retreating figure of Roose Bolton. "Aye, my lady. I do not trust him."
Morgana frowned, relief washing over her that at least someone else shared her feelings. But she knew she could nevr show her true emotions to anyone, especially not to Roose Bolton.
She steeled herself and continued to tend to the wounded, all the sneaking glances at the untrustworthy lord.
Robb and Roose happened upon a field medic who was trying to help one of the wounded, though not one of their own.
"No, don't! Don't! Please!" The wounded soldier shouted.
"Shhh." The female medic soothed, or attempted to.
A wounded soldier struggled as she removed his tattered pants and tried to tend to his bloody legs while another woman tried to help.
"The rot's set in." She told him.
"No, don't! No, don't!"
"Shh."
"Please, don't! It'll get better. It doesn't even hurt."
"The rot will spread if we don't take the foot now."
"No, you can't!"
Robb approached, looking concerned as the man continued to struggle. Robb knelt and helped hold the man down.
"Ser! Please, ser. I can't lose-" The man spoke to Robb.
"You'll die if she doesn't."
"I don't want to be a cripple, please."
"Surely one of our men needs your attention more than this cub." Roose Bolton told the woman.
"Your men are not my men, my lord." She replied.
"Put this in your mouth and lie down. You don't want to watch." Robb told the man.
"No! You can't!"
"Bite on it. It's better than biting your own tongue, believe me."
Robb held the wounded soldier down as the woman sawed off his foot. He screamed through the gag that Robb placed in his mouth. Robb watched the resigned medic saw through, impressed by her resolve.
[Another Part Of The Battlefield]
A mounted soldier rode slowly, carrying the Stark banner. The female medic readied a cart carrying a wounded man. It started forward, and she looked exhausted, covered in blood. Robb looked over at her. She noticed and turned as he approached.
"What's your name?"
"Talisa."
"Your last name?"
"You want to know what side my family fights on?" She surmised.
"You know my family name. You have me at a disadvantage."
"That boy lost his foot on your orders."
"They killed my father."
"That boy did?"
"The family he fights for."
"Do you think he's friends with King Joffrey? He's a fisherman's son that grew up near Lannisport. He probably nevr held a spear before they shoved one in his hands a few months ago."
"I have no hatred for the lad."
"That should help his foot grow back." Talisa quipped, before walking away in frustration, carrying a heavy pail. Robb followed behind her.
"You'd have us surrender, end all this bloodshed. I understand. The country would be at peace and life would be just under the righteous hand of good King Joffrey."
"You're going to kill Joffrey?"
"If the gods give me strength."
"And then what?"
"I don't know. We'll go back to Winterfell. I have no desire to sit on the Iron Throne."
"So who will?"
"I don't know."
"You're fighting to overthrow a king, and yet you have no plan for what comes after?"
"First we have to win the war."
Frustrated, Talisa climbed onto a horse's cart, and signaled it to start off.
"You nevr told me where you're from."
"Volantis."
"Volantis? You're far from home. The boy was lucky you were here."
"He was unlucky that you were."
Talisa rode away, and she and Robb watched one another as she got further and further away.
[King's Landing - Throne Room]
King Joffrey Baratheon aimed a crossbow at a kneeling Lady Sansa Stark while Sandor "The Hound" Clegane stood nearby.
"You're here to answer for your brother's latest treasons."
"Your Grace, whatever my traitor brother has done, I had no part. You know that. I beg you, please"
"Ser Lancel, tell her of this outrage."
Ser Lancel Lannister address the room, who was taken aback by his recounting.
"Using some vile sorcery, your brother fell on Stafford Lannister with an army of wolves. Thousands of good men were butchered. After the slaughter, the Northmen feasted on the flesh of the slain."
"Killing you would send your brother a message." Joffrey told her.
Sansa cried out in fear.
"But my mother insists on keeping you alive. Stand. So we'll have to send your brother a message some other way. Meryn."
Ser Meryn Trant approached Sansa.
"Leave her face. I like a pretty face."
Sansa looked aghast at Joffrey. Meryn punched her full-force in the stomach and she doubled over in pain. Joffrey looked on cruelly as Meryn cut Sansa's legs out from under her. She fell to the floor, wailing.
"Meryn, my lady is overdressed. Unburden her."
Meryn rips Sansa's dress from the back, causing her to cry out in anguish.
"If you want Robb Stark to hear us, we're going to have to speak louder."
Meryn raised his sword to hit Sansa.
"What is the meaning of this?" A voice bellowed. It was Tyrion, accompanied by Bronn.
Meryn held his position and Joffrey looked worried as the duo made their way into the room.
"What kind of knight beats a helpless girl?"
"The kind who serves his king, Imp."
"Careful, now. We don't want to get blood all over your pretty white cloak." Bronn teased.
"Someone get the girl something to cover herself with. She is to be your queen. Have you no regard for her honor?" Tyrion said.
The Hound removed his cloak and walked to Sansa, draping it over her. She pulled it closer, still crying.
"I'm punishing her."
"For what crimes? She did not fight her brother's battle, you half-wit."
"You can't talk to me like that. The king can do as he likes!"
"The Mad King did as he liked. Has your Uncle Jaime ever told you what happened to him?"
"No one threatens His Grace in the presence of the Kingsguard." Meryn said, ready to unsheath his sword.
"I'm not threatening the king, ser. I am educating my nephew. Bronn, the next time Ser Meryn speaks, kill him. That was a threat. See the difference?"
Bronn smirked at Meryn who stared daggers at Tyrion.
"You should be glad your sister is not here. I don't even want to imagine what she would do." Joffrey paled as Tyrion turned and walked over to Sansa, offering her his hand.
She took it and stood before they walked out together.
"I apologize for my nephew's behavior. Tell me the truth. Do you want an end to this engagement?"
"I am loyal to King Joffrey, my one true love."
"Lady Stark, you may survive us yet."
Tyrion watched Sansa walk out of the throne room, followed by her handmaidens, who were almost certainly spies for Cersei, in admiration of her strength and clever response.
"The little king's backed up. Clogged from balls to brains." Bronn told him.
"You think dipping his wick will cure what ails him?"
"There's no cure for being a cunt. But the boy's at that age. And he's got nothing to do all day but pick wings off flies. Couldn't hurt to get some of the poison out."
[Riverlands - Robb Stark Camp, Morgana's Tent]
Exhausted but content in knowing they had done all they could, Morgana and Sirena finally settled down to rest in their shared tent, their weary bodies still alert to any sounds of danger that might lurk in the darkness. Despite the horrors of today's events, they both knew that they had found something valuable in one another - a bond born of shared sacrifice and devotion to duty. And as they drifted off to sleep, they knew that no matter what lay ahead, they would face it together, as sisters in arms.
Though, as usual, peaceful sleep was not in the cards for Princess Morgana.
She had alwys been plagued by vivid nightmares, but this one was different. It was the third time she had dreamt of her betrothed's death, and each time it had been more detailed than the last.
In her dream, Robb was at The Twins, the seat of House Frey, where he had gone to negotiate a peace treaty with Lord Walder Frey. But instead of finding resolution, he found betrayal. She saw Roose Bolton, one of his father's banner man, stabbing Robb in the heart with a dagger, his eyes filled with malice and hatred.
Morgana sat up in bed, sweating and trembling, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She couldn't shake off the feeling that her dream was more than just a simple nightmare. She had alwys believed that her dreams were prophetic, and this one felt all too real.
"Sirena," she called out to her handmaiden, who slept soundly on the other side of the room. "Wake up."
Sirena stirred, opening her eyes groggily. "My lady? What is it?"
"I had another dream," Morgana said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Robb is going to die. I saw it again, and it feels so real. I saw Robb being murdered at a wedding, just like beforr. And this time, I could see Roose Bolton's face clearly. He was the one who did it."
Sirena sat up straight, concern etched on her face. "What do you mean, my lady? Are you sure it was not just a bad dream?"
Morgana nodded, her heart heavy with foreboding. "It was different from the others. More specific. And I feel it in my bones, like it will happen soon."
Sirena took Morgana's hands in hers, her grip firm and comforting. "We must tell the king. He needs to know what you have seen."
But Morgana hesitated. She knew that her father, King Baratheon, would not take her dreams seriously. He had alwys dismissed them as mere fantasies, born of her own fears and anxieties. Why would the King In The North believe her?
But this time, she felt differently. This time, she felt a sense of urgency that she could not ignore.
"What does this mean? Do you think it's a prophecy or something?"
Morgana nodded, feeling a chill run down her spine. "I fear so. My dreams have alwys come true. Remember how I dreamt of the boar killing my father and it actually happened?"
"Yes."
"Well, this dream left me with the same feeling."
Morgana couldn't shake off the feeling that her dreams were more than just random visions. They felt like warnings, portents of something yet to come. And she feared that before long, her nightmares would become all too real.