Chapter 1: Draft 1
Scarlett Grimm walked the stony shore of Greyguard Island. Tatters at the bottom of her brown breeches were soaked through with salt spray, but she relished the feel of the cold against her ankles.
She was not supposed to be out there. It wasn't proper of a lady to partake in such activities, or wear such clothing. Especially not a lady intended to meet her suitor later in the day. Whalen Frey had ridden from the Twins with a Frey and Lannister escort. Their marriage was supposed to be the contract between Greyshield and the Iron Throne. A fourteenth son with a lady descended from a bastard Targareyan. She thought she deserved better. Not that she wanted to be wed however. The nonsense was her duty, but she did not desire any man. She wanted to explore, to see the wonders beyond the sea, north of the wall, the Arbor; even King's Landing would be an adventure. Her lady mother had urged her to follow her dreams, but her lady mother was nine years deceased.
She stooped low over a shallow pool made by the tides and dipped a long-fingered hand into the cold, feeling against the rocks, and pried a pink star off the little ledge. She laid it flat in her hand, a strand of red untangled itself from the mop on her head and fell delicately on the creature she held. It did not respond. She often wondered at the sensations of a starfish. She wondered at a lot of things, and longed to find the answers.
The sun was past it's peak in the sky by the time Scarlett saw fit to return to the castle. She was soaked from head to foot, her feet scraped and bleeding, with more scratches up her arms. Her hair was a tangled mess atop her head. She undid the tie around it and let her scarlet ringlets fall to her waist, coarse with salt and snarls. She knew she would be expected in the meeting chambers within, but if she allowed herself to be seen in such a state her father's face would become as grey as the islands name and his lips would form that hard, tight, line she knew so well. His hands would shake, and he would silently await her to make a fool of him again. Her first betrothed had been Horas Redwyne, the heir to the Arbor. She had been flattered with the match, but at fourteen she was no more excited to marry than she was now at ten-and-nine. Her Septa informed her that if she did not take a husband soon, no man would ever want her for his bride. She would be an old crone. She did not dread this future so much.
She sauntered past Henry, the guard at the castle gates, and made her way up the stone spiral staircase to her chambers. She chose a plain gown of dark yellow wool, and donned it without bothering to dry herself, nor did she bother with her hair but to smooth out the rough patches, preferring it to hang down to her waist. She walked toward her dresser and retrieved the large string of pearls that had once been Lady Sarilla's and fastened them about her neck.
When Scarlett entered the castle's meeting chamber, she locked eyes with weasel-faced Whalen Frey. He was a lad of three-and-twenty – skinny as a rail and of medium height with flat brown eyes and a pointed nose. His hair was mousy and lacked color and his face was pimpled. She could not contain a slight sneer, but she greeted him with every courtesy that befit a lady of her standing.
"My lady," Sir Whalen Frey inclined his head at her, his eyes round with wonder at her beauty. The look was not new to her, men always gave her those eyes. Her mother had once told her that there was a way to use that to her advantage, but trapped in the chamber surrounded by Lannister and Frey knights, her lord father, and her betrothed, she did not see how. She felt trapped; suffocated under the weight of responsibilities she did not intend to take on. Whalen bent to one knee and delicately kissed her hand. She smiled down at him.
"My dear Sir Whalen, how was your ride? I do so hope you did not encounter any difficulties?" Her father looked pleased with what he assumed was her acceptance.
"Do not concern yourself with such things, my lady. We had a pleasant enough journey, and any hardships were well worth your hand."
How bold of him? Scarlett thought to herself, to assume I am to accept this marriage. She smiled at his words and took a seat at her father's great carved table. The night dragged on slowly, she tried her best to avoid the small talk, only nodding in agreement or smiling when necessary. Her father seemed relieved at her compliance, and she wished she could please him with agreeing to the match, but she had already decided she could not.
When her father had come to her with the news of another suitor she had preemptively refused him. Then he told her of the Queen Regent's demand for the marriage, to ensure their loyalty to the Iron Throne. Scarlett had been furious. The islands were in the south and Highgarden was already tied to the throne through Lady Margaery's marriage to the King. The islands were of no consequence. She knew what this really was. The Queen meant to keep the Lord of the Crossing happy with marriages for his many offspring, and some noble lady islander was of no consequence to her – it was not as if Queen Cersei herself or her precious Princess Myrcella would be forced to wed the weasely, traitorous Frey's.
"My dear, with your leave I would be ever so happy to send a raven to my Lord Father announcing our betrothal." Whalen proclaimed over the last course of the meal; smoked salmon braised with lemon juice.
Scarlett swallowed heavily, inclined her face toward the fourteenth son of Frey and smiled her most charming smile. "Sir Whalen, you are most noble. Such a match should no doubt please your father and mine own." His pointed face spread wide in a smile that reached his too-small ears. "However, before my mother so tragically died, she gave me a gift." Her father's own smile seemed to curdle at the head of the table. "She gave me the gift of freedom, she had said. I should be free to make my own choices and as much as it displeased my father he agreed to give me this power over my own fate." She studied the men around the table. Some had disapproving looks, others smug, others still murderous. "I do not wish to marry you Whalen Frey. I will not."
Whalen Frey's smile had become a scowl, he seemed angry enough to spit. Her father's face was a deep red, and he coughed. "I have another daughter, of marrying age. Perhaps you would like to meet her, good Sir?"
This did not please Whalen. "I was promised the elder. If she refuses me, it is clear to us all here that Greyshield has refused to bend the knee to the Iron Throne."
Scarlett thought that was a hasty assumption, and was not impressed with the attempted manipulation. She rose from her seat. "Well Sir Whalen, that was not my intention. I would gladly bend the knee and serve your queen, but not with such a match. I pray you have a safe ride home. Good evening." And without leave from Lord Guthor, her father, she rose and exited the chamber. As she made her way to her rooms, she could hear the commotion from below. She had angered the lords, and wounded Sir Whalen's pride. The insult would not be forgotten. Perhaps she had made a more grievous error than she had realized; she did not wish for her family to come to harm for such a thing, but she did not wish to marry either. Especially not Whalen Frey.
She watched from her chamber windows as the Royal ships departed, carrying with it her fifth suitor. They should not be departing so soon, the insult must have been deeply felt. Scarlett lay on her bed, feeling guilty about what she had done. Perhaps she should have swallowed her pride and done her duty? If only for the safety of her loved ones. Would they truly be labeled treasonous for her actions?
Some time later Scarlett heard a furious knock on the door to her rooms. Lord Guthor, she knew. He would be upset with her. She threw open her doors and was startled to see that she had been wrong. It was Maester Valon.
"Gather your siblings. Get them to the counsel chambers and keep them there." She had never heard the old man sound so frightened.
"What's going on Maester?" As she asked it she caught a glimmer of orange in the window. She walked slowly toward it and gasped at what she beheld. The island of Greenshield was ablaze with flame and longships were moored in the dark waters at its shore. More longships were careening quickly toward her own island home. She could feel the color drain from her face.