Pryskilla
Pryskilla had never particularly enjoyed sewing. Well, no, that was a lie. Pryskilla had no issue with sewing, in fact she was quite good at it. What she disliked was being a fly on the wall, watching as others seemed perfectly at ease with each other while she did not. It was exhausting, watching Jeyne Poole, Sansa Stark, and the others titter away while ignoring her utterly. Was she not worthy of inclusion?
Though, given the subject of their conversation (handsome Lannister knights and Baratheon princes), Pryskilla was almost glad not to be included. She very much doubted there was anything she could contribute, seeing as she was not free to look at other men and was not inclined to anyway. Truth be told, she felt quite out of her element here. The groups she was accustomed to in the Barrowlands almost never consisted of women younger than thirty and most certainly never included more than three people at a time, which left her with very little idea of how she was supposed to interact now. It should have been the simplest thing in the world, really, but nonetheless, her tongue felt leaden in her mouth and her mind remained empty of ways to inject herself into the conversation with girls her own age.
Arya Stark was as close to an ally as Pryskilla had at the moment, even though she was certain the girl hated her. According to Theon, Arya was quite close with Lord Stark's bastard and had not taken Pryskilla's treatment of him in stride. It troubled her to know that Stark's bastard was held in such high regard, especially with the trueborn Stark children, and it occurred to Pryskilla that it might damage her standing in the household to attack him as she did. But even so, the thought of an apology was thin and fleeting. The Leech Lord's daughter did not apologize to any bastard, be he elevated or no.
In any case, and regardless of their respective differences, Pryskilla could see that the young girl was having about as much fun as she, sitting through a morning of pricked fingers and overly-contrived verbiage aimed everywhere but at them. What did they think – that she would flay them where they sat? Tan their hides and have them for her winter wardrobe? Ridiculous.
Besides, it wasn't as though she was to be a Bolton much longer. Lady Pryskilla Greyjoy was up and coming faster every day. That thought caused an unbidden little grin spring to her lips.
"That is very lovely, Lady Bolton." Princess Myrcella's sweet voice made Pryskilla's head snap to attention quicker than any soldier. Her eyes were wide, wondering what she had missed and surprised that she was being spoken to at all. The princess gestured towards her hands, where she held a square of black silk embroidered with an elaborate golden kraken.
"Thank you, princess," she offered a smile, relieved that Princess Myrcella seemed genuine in her compliment.
Septa Mordane, who had yet to appraise Pryskilla's work, now took the opportunity to do so, and snatched the cloth from her lap. Inwardly, Pryskilla cringed, feeling the embarrassment rise upon having such a personal piece of work flaunted for all to see. She had hoped the presence of the princess would keep the woman occupied, but apparently such a thing was not to be.
"Quite exquisite, my lady," the septa beamed at her, "You're aunt has taught you well."
"Thank you, Septa," she said, raising herself up a little. The other girls craned their necks to examine the cloth from where they sat. Pryskilla was quite pleased to see jealousy reflected in some of their gazes.
"Lady Dustin would be very proud indeed, my dear."
Her work was handed back to her and she busied herself again with its completion. The chattering continued, as did Septa Mordane's fervent adoration for the princess and her ladies, leaving Pryskilla to her own devices. At least until she was interrupted again.
"Is that a favor for Theon?" Jeyne Poole piped up, a note of nasal spite in her tone. Pryskilla did not miss the informal use of her betrothed's name.
"That is the intended purpose, yes."
Jeyne Poole hummed in consideration.
"I gave him my favor once."
"Did you?" Pryskilla inquired flatly, uninterested in whatever insipid drivel the girl had ready.
"Oh yes, I left it on his lips before a tourney." Pryskilla raised her head, taking in the Poole girl's grinning face, the triumphant gleam in her eyes. She held herself very still.
"Did you?" she repeated. The Poole girl remained unperturbed, even though Sansa looked at her in alarm.
"Oh yes, I imagine many girls have. Theon is very popular, you see." Pryskilla drew herself up, shrugging nonchalantly, even though, on the inside, she seethed hotly. Her one condolence was that the little chit had not referred to her as 'Lady Squid' or some variant thereof, as many had been doing since fat King Robert coined the moniker.
"Well, I certainly cannot account for Lord Greyjoy's popularity," she forced herself to adopt a sweet smile, though her voice was hard as steel, "but I find the favor longest remembered is the one that lasts more than a moment."
Pryskilla reveled in the Poole girl's enraged expression for but a moment. Any longer and they would see just how much the insinuation cut her. She rose, curtseying to the room.
"If you'll excuse me, I promised Lord Greyjoy I would go riding with him this afternoon. Good day to you, princess. Ladies."
She retreated from them without further ado.
After the feast, Pryskilla had been delighted to find that Theon sought her company more frequently, even unnecessarily on some days. She always sat with him at meals, the perfect position to offer more commentary on the royal party or sometimes even subtle flirtations, but only the latter when he initiated it first and her father was not present. Either way, she found she enjoyed his company immensely, more so when they were alone and he did not feel the need to show off quite so much. He was a man who needed to prove himself, and, in that regard, they were kindred spirits.
To Pryskilla's keen eye, the people of Winterfell were as set in their opinion of the Greyjoy heir as deeply as a Weirwood was rooted to the ground. Whether or not it was a fair opinion was another matter entirely, but Pryskilla found the same was applied to her as well. The Starks were courteous, but distrustful, and it only served to drive Bolton and Greyjoy closer, which Pryskilla thought was probably for the better.
It had not taken long for her to discover that there was indeed reason behind the Stark's low opinion of Theon Greyjoy – he was an insatiable whoremonger, and while Pryskilla could not precisely reproach him for actions taken during his tenure as a bachelor, she would certainly take measures to negate the continuation of such behavior into their marriage. As Lady Dustin would say: the wife of a faithful man gives him something he is not capable of finding elsewhere. This, of course, was always followed by talk of cows and free milk which Pryskilla always found confusing, but she did understand what she had to do. The closer her betrothed was to her, the farther he would be from the whores and kitchen wenches. Pryskilla Bolton would die before she saw herself end up like Cersei Lannister.
"Is he to your liking, my lord?" Pryskilla meant the horse, the one her aunt had given as an early wedding present. Today was the first time they were ridden together by their owners.
"Very much so. This is an excellent animal," as an afterthought, he added, "Robb is quite jealous." Pryskilla laughed, enjoying the picture his satisfaction made.
"Of course he is. My aunt's horses are some of the finest in Westeros."
"You're very modest, I see." She gave him a look as if to say 'look who's talking.'
"I merely repeat what I hear," she glanced over her shoulder to where the Stark guard maintained a distant, though attentive watch over the two of them, "I can show you, if you like."
Theon grinned his mocking grin, understanding what she meant. It would not be the first time they had endeavored to escape from a chaperone, though it may be the first time they had a reasonable probability of success. Pryskilla sensed, keenly and accurately, that Theon would become quickly disinterested with the stiff etiquette required of them prior to marriage, and that was something Pryskilla could not afford. She had to be proper, but by no means prudish, in order to keep his attention, and truth be told, she quite enjoyed the thrill of breaking rules for the first time. Perhaps it was a Bolton trait.
"Over the next ridge, we can lose him there." Pryskilla barely had time to comprehend his words before he was kicking his horse into a gallop. The great beast exploded into action, sprinting away at a lightning pace, and all Pryskilla could do was follow and envy how good of a rider her betrothed truly was.
Theon
Once again, Theon Greyjoy found himself immensely - though pleasantly - surprised by the actions of his betrothed, a girl who seemed upon first glance to be as prim and unreachable as any septa, and he liked her even more for it. Many times since her arrival, he had tried to imagine what it would have been like to have Sansa in her place. The result was less than satisfactory. Sansa would never dare to mock the royal family right under their noses, she wouldn't take his bawdy jokes in stride, nor indeed laugh along with him, and she certainly would not participate in his efforts to rid them of prying eyes. Pryskilla Bolton, on the other hand, had done all that and more entirely without prompting or cajoling from his end, and Theon was all too eager to make her his.
A fine, proper lady for all but him.
Just as he predicted, the Stark guard was unprepared for their sprint and fell quickly behind, unable to keep up. Theon grinned widely to show his triumph, made even more potent when he spotted Pryskilla at his side, keeping pace effortlessly on her mare. She was a competent horsewoman, perhaps not as polished as himself, but still very good in the saddle. They were soon lost in the trees.
"You ride very well, my lady." He complimented and drew his horse into a slow walk. She beamed, pushing an escaped lock of hair over her ear.
"Thank you. My aunt insisted that we be well acquainted with the saddle."
"You brother was quite the horseman, was he not?" Pryskilla hesitated only a moment before answering and Theon wondered if perhaps it was a mistake to bring up that particular topic.
"Yes, he was. One of the best in the realm, I daresay. He would have done well in the lists."
"You were close, then?"
"Very much so. Besides my aunt, he was the only person I knew in the Barrowlands."
"What was he like? If you don't mind my asking." Theon threw the second part in at the last moment, not seeking to offend her. For once he was genuinely interested in something that did not have to do with whoring or hunting, and it surprised him. Much to his relief, Pryskilla did not seem affronted.
"Domeric was everything my father is not. He was kind, and trusting," a certain darkness swept over her fine features, "And it was his downfall."
"I am sorry." Theon could think of nothing else to say; he couldn't really empathize, given that his own brothers hated him. Pryskilla only shrugged.
"There's no sense in bemoaning the past. I prefer to look toward the future."
"As do I." This, he said sincerely and was rewarded with a coy little smile that he knew was just for him. Her next words were something less than what he expected.
"Do you want many children, my lord?" Now there was a notion! Theon Greyjoy, a father. The idea was alien to him, but the thought of how to become one sent a rush straight to his loins.
"I've never… given much thought to it."
"Neither have I," Pryskilla cracked a small smile, "Though my father will not be satisfied until we give him two sons."
"Two?"
"Yes. One for Pyke, and one for the Dreadfort." Theon scoffed ruefully. It was a pretty thought, but unrealistic.
"That is assuming Stark ever lets me return to Pyke, let alone my… heir." He stumbled over the word, so foreign was it to him.
"He cannot keep you here forever." Pryskilla said, her features steady and hard. Just now, Theon saw her father in her.
"Try telling him that."
"Perhaps you should." His head snapped towards her.
"What?"
"You could speak to him about it. Surely he would not begrudge you at least a visit to your home, your family? Make him see that," a wry little smile pulled at the corners of her mouth, "I know how persuasive you can be."
"Do you now?" Pryskilla raised her chin, farcically haughty, and looked at him down her nose. Her eyebrow was raised. A challenge.
"Yes."
Theon grinned and without warning reached across the gap between them. It was a bold move, but when was Theon Greyjoy anything but? Pryskilla squealed as he lifted her cleanly from the back of her horse and onto his own. Her arms went around him instinctively.
"Theon!" She protested, but it was punctuated by laughter, his and hers, "If we're caught, it'll be hell to pay!"
"Then we won't be." There was no Jon Snow or Stark guard to interrupt him this time, and even if they were here, Theon didn't think he could let her go quite yet. Pryskilla Bolton looked up at him through wide eyes, paler than stone but darker than milk. The eyes of the Leech Lord.
Theon paused. He wasn't normally the type to think about an action before taking it, but this time, for whatever obscure reason, he did. He could very well have her now, if he really wanted to. He doubted she would protest; after all, they were to be married in a week and a half – what did it matter? But there was something, something that made him want to do right by her. She wasn't just a common whore, she was going to be his wife, and, more importantly, this was what everyone anticipated of him, was it not? Every person in Winterfell expected him to be the lecherous debaucher, to take liberties with a highborn maiden outside the confines of marriage and move on to the next willing wench, possibly sire a bastard or two. That was what they expected - nay, what they wanted.
Well, Theon Greyjoy would be damned thrice over before he gave it to them.
"Theon?" Pryskilla murmured, bringing him out of his momentary lapse. He looked over her features, her large eyes and soft lips, her cheeks flushed a pale pink. She was sorely tempting.
"We should return, before Stark sends out a search party."
"Of course." When she made to return to her horse he let her go without resistance. It hurt, but he managed it.
