I'm not even goint to begin and try to apologize for my tardiness. , there are no excuses. That being said, I hope you enjoy the next chapter. Merry (very late) Christmas and Happy New Year!

Chapter 8. Of Monsters and Men

"There are no heroes; in life, the monsters win"- Sansa Stark

Marylean

"Yes, yes. Oh yes!"

Marylean grunted in reply as fingers gripped at her flesh harshly to turn her around.

"Yes, right 'here." Unbowed, unbent, unbroken. She kept repeating, willing herself to grin an bear it. It won't be long now she hoped.

"Ah, hmm- almos' done, almos'... 'here." The princess heaved a relieved breath as the hands released her. Tentatively she staggered-walked across the tent. Her legs hurt, ached, burned. A pleasant feeling, she decided as she came to a stop in front of the Myrish looking glass.

After being cooped up for so long the trek through the woods yesterday coupled with the shopping she did today and standing in one position- for so long- had tired her legs in the most comfortable of ways. It reminded her of a life she had lived before this, her second return to Westeros. Of days in the Free cities as a small child, of walking incognito through Dorne and the brief few summers she had spent there at the palace where her mother grew up. Daena had been adamant about that: Marylean knowing where she had come from, truly. Forging her in the ways of the Dornish wherein women had power, a purpose other than that of bearing children. Unbowed, unbent, unbroken under the hands of foolish men.

Marylean saw herself staring back, illuminated by the candlelights. Finally she could bare witness to the fruits of her stock still labour and she was not entirely happy with what she saw. The dress that the overly excited wife of the innkeeper had made, was beautiful. Crimson in colour, it had long sleeves that covered half of her hands and a tight corset that accentuated her small waist before it fell straight to the ground in a waterfall of silk. Never before had she been as covered as she was now, dressed more as a Northern royal. The neckline though, was lower than what would be considered proper here and was a small act of rebellion and compromise that Maertha allowed.

"'here ye go, Princess," the woman, who had prodded and jerked her into the dress a few moments past, croaked as she placed the needles, threads and left over fabrics in her basket. "Now, don' be goin' and sullying that new pretty dress of yers, I still haven' yet finished the rest. But don't fret, deary, I will work through the night an 'have 'em ready with breakfast" She continued as she turned around and made to leave.

"Maertha?" Marylean called whilst she still stared at the beautiful stranger in the glass.

"Yes deary?" The woman asked as she turned around, wisps of mousy brown hair obscuring most of her face.

"The other, dresses. Make them looser, less formal." Marylean requested in a monotone voice before Maertha exited.

Her new attire was indeed beautiful. It disgusted her. The reflection sneered before disappearing as Marylean poured herself a glass of water before plonking down on a chair in her quarters.

No longer occupied, the young woman receded once again into the labyrinth of her mind. To hate was effortless. She had been raised with a vengeful heart and found it easy to cling to her anger, lest she be reduced to a puddle of tears. But her efforts to hate was for naught as she closed her eyes and succumbed to the bittersweet memories of her past.

As the moon casted silver light over the room from the open window, Marylean was reminded of the stories that Daena had always told them as children. Some where true, others made up but every single one was told with the utmost care. While Marylean had always enjoyed the ones involving her family most, Rhayna had favoured fables, particularly the one of how the moon came to be. Sometimes she would even get Marylean as far as to re-in act the tale with her- the younger of the two always taking on various smaller roles while Rhayna filled the shoes of the hero, Connyr.

Rhayna. The young woman hoped her dear friend and sister was safe. If all had gone well she should be in Dorne by now, warm and with people that cared for her.

She sighed and opened her eyes, staring out of the window of what felt like a prison. It is a prison a little voice whispered wickedly. Marylean couldn't help but agree. She was confined here by a Northern oaf none the less.

The princess marveled at the fact that such a small detail- one's origins- could make her despise another person so easily. A small part of her realized that it was uncalled for, but the other part (driven by fear) ruled her. Which was understandable, she reasoned as she took a sip of her water. A Northman had murdered her father, driven her from her home that was now reduced to a pile of shit and how could she forget that night...

The young girl skipped through the halls of the Red Keep, linen basket pressed between her bony hip and hand as the walls echoed the tune she whistled. Besides her soft song and the tap of her light foot falls, it was quiet. Given the time as well as the festive season- the halls were mostly deserted at this part of the castle. It was the Killers' son's birthday and tourneys had been held in the golden haired child's honour.

Even though she knew her guardian, Daena would disapprove if she were caught in the merriment of the occasion, Marylean couldn't help but be excited at all the wonders the tourney held. Knights jousting, men mock fighting, dancers, singers, jesters- it all reminded her of the place they had come from two summers ago. Dorne, where her mother had grown up. Oh how she longed to return there. But Daena had said that it would be dangerous and that they were to be careful. If someone were to get suspicious, it could lead to their doom.

Nonetheless, the girl of almost twelve summers whistled and skipped along the path that would take her to the Hand of the King's quarters where she needed to take her load. She imagined then, as she ran one hand along the rough stones, that she was the one wearing pretty clothes, eating sweet treats, the feast was held for her. She glanced down at the rags she was wearing, a dull brown dress tied around her waist and worn boots a few sizes to big, a far cry from the Dornish attire she had grown so fond of with all its bright red, purples and oranges.

Her father would be there, wearing a crown- and decrying that all brown materials be burned -as well as her mother, brothers and sisters. Daena and Rhayna would also be a present and they would both have rooms of their own. Big rooms with big tubs and expensive oils that Queen Cersei was so fond of. Darion, her skip faltered and she whistled out of tune, he was also welcome but she will have him shaved regularly and look proper.

So caught in her dreams of a life that would never be lived was she, that the little girl did not notice nor hear the commotion further down the hall. A young soldier staggered under the weight of the lord's arm that was draped over his shoulders. When they came into view, Marylean forgoed her skipping and walked at a slow pace, head down as most servants' were.

"Oi, oi. Slow down laddy. Now what do we 'ave 'ere, eh?" The older man slurred. He wore dark colours from top to bottom and the style of his clothes differed from what she had seen here. His face was obscured by a thick, bushy beard and his hair was wild, untamed. He came from the North she concluded as she recognized that accent, more pronounced than when the Killer spoke it, but there.

Marylean shifted the basket before gripping it tightly with both hands. She quickened her steps as she made to pass them, only to be stopped by a beafy claw that wrapped itself around her upper arm. The touch seared her through her clothes. Her heart picked up the pace of her skipping from before and the whistle that echoed was sharper, louder, wicked as the man turned her around.

"Aye, now 'there be a pretty lass my boy. We don' get skin like that at home," he exclaimed to the young soldier behind him while he ran his hand through her hair.

Marylean swallowed the lump of fear in her throat. She was scared, especially when he wrapped his other hand around her neck.

"Now lassie, why don't we see a bit more flesh, aye?"

She could feel his nails digging into her skin, his foul breath blowing in her face and, by the way he stood, pressed against her, the poking in her stomach made her recoil violently.

The actions that followed made Marylean's skin crawl to this day. True to his word, the man had seen more of her skin, took pounds of flesh from her when he bent her over a desk and mounted her from behind. She had fought back in the beginning, scratched and kicked for all that she was worth, before she began to beg for mercy. Then the screams started. High, piercing wails of injustice and fear when he forced his way inside. Pound after pound, thrust after thrust she had cried out for her father, mother, Daena even to a brother and sister that had been stolen by death, as his violation continued.

Afterwards, when the deed was done and all innocence had disappeared from her eyes, he had discarded her. That day she had vowed to never again beg a man for mercy. For mercy had no place in this world. Underneath its carefree façade, monsters lurked and controlled and ruled. It must be a disease and illness that made all men monsters.

Robb Stark was one of these men, just as his father before him. A Northern man that preys on the weak and innocent. Unwillingly she recalled the way he had spoken to her last night, called her princess and asked if she had needed anything. She had admitted her fear of him- an incompetent move on her part since it gave him a higher upper hand. Even today he had been patient as they walked through town, he had stopped with her at every merchant's store and waited until she was done. When they had arrived at an establishment that sold cloths, he stood, out of place in a woman's world, while she chose a couple of materials. It went downhill from there when he exclaimed disbelievingly that she ought to know how to sew some dresses. An evil smirk played about her lips as a plan was concocted. Escape will have to wait, the sewed in letter needed to remain in place for but a while longer.

If the Northman wanted to keep her here she would release her silent wrath on the camp, lure him in with false smiles. Marylean had noted the way he looked at her within close proximity of one another. His face might remain passive but she recognized the lust in his eyes. Desire. Desire can make a monster weak, start a war and mayhaps just give her and Dorne the upper hand in this battle.

Yes, if she could bend Robb Stark to her will a lot of their enemies could well perish with no casualties on Dorne's part. He could very well pave the way, weaken the other forces for the Dornish army to swoop in and conquer her throne. And then, he will be discarded as all Northmen should be.

Afterwards, when the war was over and her kingdom was vanquished of lions and wolves alike, she could free her family from the wall. He just needed to be patient in that cold lifeless prison. Her plans needed to be set in motion. The biggest conundrum that mocked her was the fact that she had absolutely no way of communicating with her grandfather, the Dornish prince. She could only hope that he had faith in her and that Rhayna had arrived there in one piece. The letter she carried didn't reveal much, only that they were going to collect a crow in a cage, but hopefully that would be enough.

"Time to ruffle the wolf's fur".

Robb

Robb was stood, grim faced as he stared at the Map of Westeros littered with wolves, stags, krakens and lions alike. The war was weighing heavily on the people, a fact that he was sourly reminded of upon departing Fairmarket. Muddy and wet his soldiers had trudged on when news came that the Red Fork would be possible to cross and now here they were, further south than he had ever been before, Stone Hedge, readying themselves to march into battle come morning.

He was not worried about the lions possibly infiltrating the North. With the Freys on his side the only way that Tywin could touch his homeland was by ship. That possibility will also be ruled out in the near future, Robb hoped. He had faith in Theon, faith that he would sway his father- Balon Greyjoy- to fight with him in exchange for an independent Ironborn kingdom as well. If he could get more men on his side- hopefully support from Renly- then Robb was sure he would have his sisters back come the end of the year. The sooner this war, his war, came to an end, the better. He had a winter to prepare for and given that he sometimes felt the need for a cloak even this far South, the coming winter will be brutal; a war all on its own.

But, thoughts of the far future would have to wait, he had a battle to prepare for, no matter how small it may be. Frowning Robb regarded all the pieces on the Map. Lions were still far more present then was preferred. Their biggest victory to date was the Battle of the Whispering Wood as it was fast becoming known. The smaller battles he had fought usually ended with the Lions retreating and then somehow coming back stronger than ever. It would seem that Tywin didn't shit just gold, but soldiers as well.

"If you keep frowning like that, you would soon lose your title as the young wolf, Northman."

Robb glanced at the person who spoke from the corner of his eye, attention still mostly on the Lion problem. She was the epitome of contradictions, dressed in a Northern dress the colour of the sun. He had not seen her since the day they had spent together in Fairmarket, but she was never far, haunting his dreams at night. In truth, he had avoided her.

"How did you get here?" Robb asked as he turned his full attention back to the map.

"I kept giving the guard water and waited until he needed to relieve himself before walking out." While she spoke, her voice grew louder and louder and soon he could feel the heat radiating off of her body as they stood shoulder to shoulder in front of his war table. He should be angry with her, as well as her guard Reuben Snow, but he couldn't find it in himself. Not tonight. Not when he had an impending battle on his hands as well as the lives of hundred other men.

"You went through an awful lot of trouble to see me then. What do you need?"

Robb didn't for one moment believe that she would come here if she didn't need anything, especially given that she had nearly bitten off his head when he had asked her why she couldn't make her own dresses. Not that he minded paying the innkeeper's wife, especially not now as he noticed the generous amount of chest that she showed off. He should've payed the woman more.

"Nothing, I just never got the chance to thank you for the other day. So thank you, Northman." Marylean said softly. Sincerely and for the first time that night, he looked at her. Really looked at her, from the braided hair to her bare feet that peeked out from under the ridiculous orange garment. He didn't see the woman who had a hand in his father's death. He didn't see a girl that can be used as a pawn in the game he had recently began to play, a bargain that can be used in the future, nor did he see the woman that haunted his dreams at night. He just saw her.

"You are welcome Princess." Robb whispered, afraid to break the silent tranquility. The few candles that casted a golden glow across the tent, flickered as if in agreement with their King.

"If you don't mind me asking, why is it so silent tonight?" Marylean, however didn't seem to share his thoughts as she spoke. True it was quieter than most nights in camp. All the waRriors seem to have opted for an early night to ensure their swords will be relentless.

"I would think that Rueben would tell you." Robb deadpanned, trying to tease her, but he was not as skilled. Was not used to speaking so nonchalantly with a person he did not know, even less considering she was a foe. He would need to find another guard for her, since this one had become a little too familiar. And just like that, he was once again reminded of the brutal reality that they were on opposing sides of the battle field.

"He couldn't, he was too busy drinking water." Marylean replied, mischief shining in her eyes.

In the past when he needed to ready himself to march, Robb would barely sleep; rather he would play every single scenario out, every possible move that can be made. Theon would sometimes spend some of the night with him and Robb would test his theories out aloud. But his friend was not here and she posed absolutely no threat he decided as he took in her slight frame and surprisingly open demeanor.

"We march tomorrow, before the sun comes out. The Lannisters are pushing back and we can't afford to have them at our flanks." He said while turning back to Westeros, serious once more. If Tywin did manage to come at them from the sides, he had no doubt that they will divide and conquer them, especially since he still had no word from his mother. The Northern numbers were to low to take on the Lannister army.

"Isn't it risky, leaving the camp unprotected? Tywin would surely stop at nothing to have his son back, I'm certain."Marylean asked immediately while picking up a Lion figurine. She touched it, inspected it thoughtfully, before putting it back once more. At once Robb recognized the slight quiver in her voice. Fear, this time for someone other than he himself. The young wolf counted that as a small victory.

"Aye, but I won't leave the camp unprotected, Princess, and it would be a big mistake if he were to do that." He attempted to reassure her.

"Why?"

"Do you see this place here," Robb began as he gestured to a place on the map on which a Lion stood "that is an estimation of where the battle will be taking place tomorrow. If Tywin were to attack the camp, they would be caught between our forces here and there." He indicated. It would be ideal for Robb, but messy and a mistake an amature would've made, or a woman it seemed. "It would be too much of a risk to divide his forces in such a way, his strength lies in his numbers at the moment and he is aware of that." Robb concluded his explanation.

"It would be a massacre should he chose to do so." She said while running her fingers along the Map.

"Aye"

"Will your men return tomorrow as well?" It was a good question that she asked so innocently. In all honesty Robb had no idea how long it will take place. Since they would only be pushing them back further, there was hope that they could return on the same day. It all depended on the resistance they would be met with. According to the scouts, it was only a small party that flew the Lannister banner, and since they will attack at dawn, the men would be caught off guard and hopefully flee or better yet fall.

Although, when asked he would deny it, Robb longed for a fight. The politics and worries were weighing too heavily on him and he could feel the anxiety in the air amongst lust for blood was palpable in the way his men spoke about their previous victories and sharpened their swords.

He didn't consider who she was when he spoke. Hearing the reasoning behind his decision solidified them and reassured him that this plan will work, this battle will have few casualties on his side. His hands, stained in blood, won't be drenched. Yet. "Aye, I believe so. We will only be driving them back, with minimum bloodshed and death on our part I hope. The trees will provide good coverage and the men here are used to the terrain and conditions which will give us a slight advantage."

"You will be riding with them?" Marylean asked surprised. The wolf figurine suddenly had a different place: her hands.

"Aye." Robb said whilst regarding her carefully. By now he had leaned slightly forward, supported by his outstretched arms that rested on the table.

She looked up from her inspection, brow furrowed in confusion. It seemed that this night was a night for questioning and all at once Robb wondered who would have the upperhand when it came to an end."Why?"

A long time passed before he answered her trutfully."I am their leader now and I cannot lead them if I am holed up in a tent."

"You are a King, and though I loathe to admit, a very important man." Marylean began as their gazes locked. He wanted to reprimand her for her quip, put her over his knee, but before he could follow through with the reckless path his thoughts had taken him, she continued in a small voice." What if you fall, what happens then?"

Robb sighed. It would appear then, that she once again only thought of herself. What happens to her. The young man knew he couldn't fault her for asking. Alone in a war camp with strangers and not knowing what will happen to her; he was surprised that she still seemed sane after all this time. Nearly three moons. "The fight lives on, for my sisters and the freedom of the North and her people."

"Do you have children?"She asked while finally putting the wolf figurine down. Apparently talk of war was done for now and the questions would get more personal. Robb didn't know how to feel about that. He knew that if he got to know her, he stood at risk of getting attached and attachments was something he could not afford. Best to answer her questions, let her get to know him instead of the other way around.

"Nay, not yet." Robb grunted, war was no place for a child. Definitely in the future, when all was settled, Robb would like to be a father. To have a big family of at least six children. Thoughts of children and family brought him back to his impending nuptials. When this was over he would go to Walder Frey to marry one of his daughters. He would marry a woman he had never met, never seen, the most beautiful of Walder's daughters, but from what he heard that was an easy feat. Robb would not consider himself shallow by any means, but if he were to spend the rest of his life with a woman he hadn't met he would prefer her to be at least somewhat comely. She would be the mother of his children, his daughters and he wouldn't want them to have to suffer from side remarks.

Without meaning to, Robb raked his eyes up Marylean's form once more. Now, if Roslyn resembled this woman that was steadily driving him mad, there could definitely be some fun in the bedroom. Presently she was leaning against the table, body turned towards him with one hand running through her braid seemingly absent minded."Is your wife with child?" His gaze followed her slim fingers as they ran from her neck, down, down, past her breast before coming to a stop at her waist where her hair ended and continued their trek back up.

"I do not have a wife." Robb sighed, shifting from foot to foot. When would these questions end? She reminded him slightly of when his other siblings were younger, their constant inquiries had driven him up the walls sometimes. How his mother and father had enough patience to raise six children (Jon was his brother no matter what his mother said) through such a phase was beyond him. Immediately Robb rethought his earlier decision of six children, maybe three would be more appropriate.

Marylean seemed to regard him with a stern expression for a moment. Her hands now folded in front of her."Then who is your heir?" The way she asked that question, haughtily with contempt, had his blood running colder immediately.

Robb did not like it one bit and his demeanor was closed off when he turned back to the table before replying."I have not named one."

"You should." She retorted, still with that same tone of voice. Was she blind to his anger or too dumb to see it. Or perhaps, Robb thought, was she goading him on purpose. He did not know which option he prefered. Robb scoffed, princess of prophecies the paranoid men called her, more like princess of ignorance and madness.

"Is that a prophecy, Princess?" Robb asked, jaw clenched tightly as she reached for a lion figurine once more.

"No, but it is inevitable," she continued without a care to the stoic King before her. Robb had to admit, reluctantly, that she was right. All men must die and this war ensured that most would meet the gods sooner rather than later. And although Robb had become a warrior to be reckoned with, he was still just a man. "What happens to me if you fall in battle?"

Ah, there it is, the real question. Robb regarded her carefully. Although her shoulders were squared and she appeared poised, he noticed the way she fiddled with the lion in her hands. Judging by her furrowed brow and the way her eyes had taken on a glassy shine, he suspected it was fear. Just like that he slipped back into the role of protector rather than predator. Unclenching his jaw Robb turned to her and gently placed his hand atop the fiddling mess that was hers. Marylean's skin was cold to the touch and, Robb saw as he pried her fingers from the figurine, it had lightened slightly. His vivid blue gaze ran over her face, pausing for a short moment at the small scar in her lip, before he locked eyes with her. "Even if I do not make it back, Marylean, you still have the Stark's protection, my protection. That does not change." Robb said, willing her to believe him. She had had his father's protection, his mother's and now his. If he should meet his end, he had already spoken to Lord Umber about that. Even though the man had complained Robb's ear off after traveling with her once again, the lord had not complained when his King said that he was to ensure her safety in the event that Robb should fall. At least until his mother was back. She had seen the letter that her late husband had written to Robb and he trusted that Catelyn Stark would know what to do.

"Are you scared, of him?" Marylean broke the silence that settled over them. At first Robb was confused, frightened of who? But then he noted her eyes fixed on the Lion still in his hand.

"He is a smart man, a seasoned warrior." Robb said once realization dawned. Tywin Lannister. "I would be a fool not to be." The young wolf admitted while he placed it back on the Map.

"I am too" she said with a small smile while shuffling closer to him. She smelled of something sweet and spicy, a potent combination. It would seem then that they have found a common ground, hatred for the Lannisters. Hesitantly she touched his upper arm closest to her. It seared him through his woolen shirt despite its coldness. "Are you going to kill him?" She whispered in the air between them. Robb didn't have to think at all when he replied, eyes firmly on hers.

"Aye, I will kill them all." The smile he was met with stayed with him that night: while he wrote a letter addressed to Dorne as well as in his dreams. It was the first thing he thought of when Greywind nudged him awake, hungry for battle.

...

Rivulets of sweat ran down his brow, some mixing with the small drops of blood to run further down his face. His hair was matted to his forehead and by now he was panting heavily. Every breath filled his nostrils with the metallic scent of blood. Robb wiped at his brow furiously before he parried another blow. The sun beat mercilessly against the ground; the heat a small reprieve of the colder weather they had experienced recently. It was definitely not ideal. All around, the harsh sound of steel meeting steel provided music to the warriors' ears.

Seeing an opening, Robb blocked his opponent's blow with one hand before metal screeched against metal to meet soft flesh beneath. Immediately he turned around and moved on to his next foe, alternating between blocking and attacking. Sure footed, Robb stepped over a severed limb. On his right he spied Greywind, viciously tearing the neck off of another golden soldier. The sight was formidable. Too late Robb saw his opponent strike again. This time the sword was blocked by the armor and Robb hissed at the small sting of pain. A bruise would surely be left behind. With renewed vigor, the young wolf attacked: advancing on his foe as he brought his sword up, both hands wrapped around the hilt and swung. His opponent jumped back, but not far enough. Robb's sword sunk into the soft flesh of the other man's neck, blood gushing from the wound as he fell, dead before the victor's feet.

The rest of the day, was much the same. The forces the Northern men were met with, was stronger in numbers than what was originally thought and they were met with more resistance than was bargained on. But despite their plans being slightly upturned, the North still rose as victors when, at midday, the last of the Lannisters either retreated or fell. The once soft green pastures were now trampled with hooves and boots, stained crimson under the onslaught of man's fury. Limbs and corpses littered the small clearing and sporadically a cry of pain was heard as those that had no hope for survival were put out of their misery, soldiers and horses alike.

Heaving a sigh, Robb pulled the gloves from his right hand, the fine leather sticking to it slightly as peeled it away. The four inch long gash running across its back opened up at once, oozing blood onto his skin. Reaching down he tore a strip of cloth from the hem of his shirt that peeked out from under his armor then proceeded to bandage the superficial wound. Once he'd finished he looked up and saw the Greatjon limping slightly towards him, a big smile on his bloodied face. "Another victory, my King!" He exclaimed a bit breathlessly as he came to a stop at Robb's side.

"Aye, Lord Umber it would appear so." The young King replied while he began walking through the battlefield, taking note of all the casualties on his part. Not many Northmen had fallen from what he could see, but a few appeared to be injured. The wagon will come shortly to collect them, they just had to be patient. Corpses of the golden army where being collected. It was decided at yet another council meeting- which he despised- that the dead will be burned. Given that they were only a couple of leagues away from their camp, the smell of rotting flesh could travel there if the wind chose to do so.

Greatjon, still at his side, stumbled slightly over a bony arm. That of a child no older than Bran dressed in golden armor. Disgusted Robb looked away, bile rising in his throat. It was not the first time he was met with such a sight, but it never became any easier. "It would be good to celebrate tonight, aye my King? The men deserved it after the fight they put up." Lord Umber asked hesitantly while he looked at Robb intently, also uneasy by the reality of children fighting in wars.

Robb didn't feel like celebrating. What where they celebrating anyhow? The morbid reality of death? A small victory that had still not won them a war? It seemed pointless, but still Robb relented. He will clandestinely host it as a thank you for his men while he would seek solace someplace quiet. Maybe ask one of his uncles if they know of a Heart Tree nearby. It was with another heavy sigh that Robb finally relented. "Very well, Lord Umber. But tomorrow a council meeting will be held."

"Growing fond of those are you, Your Grace?" The Greatjon teased, knowing full well of his King's dislike for such matters.

"My Lord the day I grow fond of council meetings, you have my permission to run a sword through me yourself."

...

Usually upon his return, Robb was greeted by his mother. Then, after pleasantries were exchanged and he had cleansed himself of his enemies' blood he would seek solace in the woods where it was quiet, Greywind usually his only companion. He would pray and give thanks to the gods for guiding his actions and decisions on the right path.

Now, he found himself alone in his tent, hair still damp from the bath he had taken, dressed in his usual breachers, jerkin, shirt and boots. When they had finally returned just when the sky was beginning to turn purple, it was to find their warcamp unscathed. Immediately he had made the announcement that there will be a celebration held this night in lieu of their victory and cheers of "King in the North" and "Long live the King" echoed throughout the tents. He didn't want this admiration and responsibility resting on his shoulders. Outside, he could already hear the men boasting about their accomplishments, the boisterous laughter and merriment a stark contrast to this morning's silence. Robb didn't want to join in the jovial mood, his head had already began pounding and there was still so much to do. But he had promised Lord Umber, and by the sound of things, the men needed a distraction. No doubt they missed home just as much as he did.

Having bade them goodnight as soon as possible, he found himself now stuck in his tent, more agitated than he was when he was sat in front of the great fire while the Smalljon told another tale of 'when I was in a brothel'. There was only one place to go at this time of night if he didn't want to be alone seeing as Greywind had decided that collecting scraps of meat and bones from the soldiers were more fun than spending time with his brooding master. With his mind made up, Robb exited the tent and, concealed by darkness, navigated his way to a smaller tent not far from his. Rueben Snow, a very unassuming man with dark hair and dark eyes, stood on high alert when he saw his King, not wanting to disappoint. But Robb waved the clearly reluctant man off. A guard would not be needed right at this moment.

Robb was just about to call out for permission to enter, when movement from the small gap between the tent flaps caught his eye. Inside Marylean had just stood up from the bath, water glistening on her tanned naked skin, her back turned to him. So this was why Rueben was so reluctant to leave, Robb concluded as he watched her step out of the tub. It was not honorable to do this he chastised himself. To spy and lust after a female captive that depended on his goodwill to keep her safe. To break their uneasy truce because he acted like a foolish boy that saw a woman for the first time was not worth it. But, even though he was honorable, he was still just a man and his body betrayed his good intentions.

Robb shifted slightly when Marylean disappeared from his vision, a towel in her hand, when... good gods. She was turned towards him and was without a doubt one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. He followed the towel's path enviously. How would it feel to touch her bare skin, caress her breasts, to chase the droplets that ran passed her waist down, down... Robb finally managed to win the battle against his eyes as he teared his gaze away before he had a chance to go below her flat stomach. But the war was not yet won seeing as his booted feet where still rooted on the spot.

The young wolf clenched his fists tightly at his side as he willed the lust to reside. He was betrothed and he had promised Marylean that no man would touch her as long as she was under his protection, him included. The stinging in his hand was the only distraction he had right now as the wound reopened. Robb focused on the way that blood ran down his fingers, a distraction that seemed to be working as he noted that his breathing had returned to normal.

"Are you going to stand outside my tent and either bleed or freeze to death, or are you going to come inside, Northman?" The voice, that voice, was the turning point in the war against his body. Robb entered as Marylean held the tent flaps open in invitation, thankfully dressed in the white nightgown he had spied her in before.

Her quarters where smaller than his, but held a single bed, a table on which various items stood haphazardly, a chair and a tub. It was practical and all that she could need. He was satisfied.

"You know," Marylean began while leading him to her small bed. "There are healers in the camp that would gladly make you their top priority I'm certain," she continued as she pushed him down and went to collect a trunk that was underneath the table. She rummaged through it a few moments before producing a small jar of what looked to be a green paste. "You didn't have to come to me for help, I could prove to be fatal." She teased. At last she proceeded towards him once more, a water baisin in one hand, while the other held the green paste, a cloth and another piece of white material. Robb looked down and saw the night dress that was once too long now hung just below her ankles.

Robb lengthened his spine when she sat next to him. Candlelight illuminated her rich brown tresses that was for once loose and hung straight down her back, turning the white woolen dress into a darker colour. "Give me your hand" she commanded softly.

Robb obliged, placing his large, injured calloused hand into her smaller cold one, palms facing each other. Gingerly she wet the cloth and wrung it out before she began cleaning the wound. It was a shallow cut that would not require any stitches, but still he entertained her. Once the blood was cleaned, she proceeded to spread the green paste all over. It had a spicy, pungent aroma to it and Robb wrinkled his nose. She remained impassive, probably used to the smell. The nursing session was concluded when she bandaged his hand with the white woolen material and gathered all the items on the bed. His eyes followed her as she moved about the tent, placing the items on various places, before she cleared a space on the table and hopped onto it; one leg crossed over the other.

"Where did you learn to do this?" Robb finally spoke to her for the first time that night, his voice sounding hoarse even to his own ears. Asking her a question as personal as this went against the prisoner policy he had made up, but by gods he wanted to know at least something about her that was not told to him by his mother or written by his father.

"My guardian, Daena, found a man dying on our doorstep. She nursed him back to health and naturally we, her daughter and I, helped" she gave a slight pause, probably wondering whether she should divulge further information, before she made up her mind and continued. "During the years that followed he became a sort of protective shadow and when there was a wound from a fight he had gotten himself into. Well, he would show up and we healed him. It was the least we could do given that he came in handy more than once." She finished.

Noting that her voice had taken on a slightly sad tone, Robb concluded that he should leave further questions on that subject, for now. In a bid to lighten the mood, and because he did not like the tension that hung in the air , he tried to steer the conversation in a different direction.

"Tell me about Dorne." He tried and at once her eyes lit up. A victory for him.

"Oh, there is so much to tell. Where to begin?" Marylean said in a wistful tone. Before he could answer her question she continued. "It's always warm and sometimes it seems as if the sun will never stop shining. There is sand, rich golden sand as far as the eye can see, even the houses are made out of it. Through the region a few fountains can be found with an endless water supply wherein children play to their hearts' content. The older people prefer the sea, a clear blue on most days which delivers a nice reprieve from the heat. But the best is not the warmth or vibrant colours or the fruit trees and spiced wine, but the people and their customs. Everyone is equal there. Men and women are free to love and make love to whom ever they want. It's a place where all inhibitions are forgotten and people dance sporadically with lively music, no partner needed. In short it is the closest thing to paradise that I have ever experienced." Marylean said as their eyes locked.

It sounded to Robb more like the seven hells and not just because of the unrelenting heat she spoke about. It sounded like there was absolutely no common structure for society, no place for discipline and hard work. But, thankfully before Robb could speak his mind or stow in his anger, the tent flaps opened once again. Never before had he seen someone move so fast. One minute Marylean was perched on the table and the next she was pressed close to his side, wide eyed as she stared at Greywind who had entered the tent and was now walking towards them.

Robb looked down when he felt a stinging sensation on his upper arm to see both her hands firmly clinging to him, nails biting into his skin more and more with each step Greywind took. He chuckled softly at the expression that graced her feature, before reassuring her. "Do not worry, he won't hurt you. Greywind, sit." Hearing his master's authoritive tone, the large wolf immediately sat on his hunches, tongue lolling out at the side. He had to admit that Greywind made a rather horrific sight at the moment and could understand why she was frightened- her grip on his arm loosening but still there.

Big and vigilant the animal sat in front of them, his muzzle stained various shades of red and brown, some of his hairs forming clots. But the direwolf did not do anything else but stare at his master and the woman that clutched his arm beside him, head tilted curiously to the side.

After a while Marylean completely let go of his arm, sitting slightly forward as her curiosity won over. It was not the first time she had seen the wolf he knew as he remembered the day they had met. It was, however, the first time she had seen him as he truly was: a wild animal that proved invaluable in a fight. "Can I touch him?" Marylean whispered quietly while looking back at Robb.

"Aye, go ahead." Robb said, more amused by the display than he cared to admit. Still hesitant, she stood up and closed the distance between them slowly, hand outstretched until she placed it on his head and began running her fingers through his fur.

Gaining more confidence her other hand soon joined the first one until she was full out caressing the large wolf's head. "Aren't you beautiful, Grey..." She trailed off seeming to have forgotten the beast's name.

"Greywind." Robb supplied, only to be met with a raised eyebrow.

"Greywind?" She asked amused and Robb just nodded his head. He was used to such reactions after people heard the name, but it was not as humorous as it was strange, not like Shaggydog anyway, nor did it have the irony that "Lady" held.

With his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together in front of him, Robb leaned forward as he watched the scene play out in front of him. Greywind seem to glance at him as if to say "what is happening" as Marylean continued to coo in his ear. Before long, she fetched the water baisin and cloth that she had used to clean his hand and proceeded to do the same for Greywind.

Eight times she rose to collect clean water from the tub before all the blood and mud was nearly cleaned off of his coat. The young man, still watching the unlikely pair intently, suddenly found himself jealous of the ease she carried herself with around the wolf.

"After fighting for a whole day you deserve to be clean." Marylean continued to speak to the wolf as she ran her hand through his fur. If Robb was a different man, someone like Theon, he would quip that he too deserved a bath seeing as he fought all day long. But that was not to be and he only ran a hand through his now dry hair. Greywind detected something amiss and went to lay at his master's feet. His new admirer, however didn't seem as keen to return to Robb's side now that the big bad wolf was placated and returned to her place on the table.

"Congratulations on your victory." Marylean said, unintentionally reminding him of the corpses of young boys in golden armor. Robb rubbed his hands together. There was no doubt in his mind that some of those boys could've (and probably had) fallen before his sword.

"A small battle won, does not make me a victor in this war." He replied solemnly, trying to swallow down the bile in his throat as his stomach turned at the still grotesque image that his mind had conjured. Maybe Marylean was right to distance herself from him after all. He was a bigger, badder wolf than Greywind.

"No, it doesn't, but it does bring you one step closer." She said softly while she ran a brush through her damp hair. When had she started doing that?

"Aye, Princess I suppose it does." Robb replied while he shook his head. Leave it to the prisoner to be optimistic he thought sardonically. An uncomfortable silence filled the air, interrupted at random by Greywind huffing while he slept. Something however still nagged at the auburn haired man that had nothing to do with battles. "Earlier, you mentioned that a man had followed and protected you through your travels. I do not recall Theon reporting that you had a companion." Daena, he knew what had happened to her and her daughter (around his age he guessed) had probably fallen with her mother at the Slaughter of Rosby. And even if Daena Sand's daughter were alive, she did not pose much of a threat in a man's world. But Marylean had to have had some help getting as far as she did. That man could possibly be a problem.

"I killed him." At first, Robb did not understand what she said. Killed him, surely she was making some sick jest? But while he looked at her, he saw no glimmer of mischief in her eyes nor a teasing smile at the corner of her mouth. She was staring at him, daring him to defy her.

"Why?" Robb inquired impassively. He was still in shock. How could a small woman such as she kill a man? It didn't look as if she could even lift a sword. One blow or slap from her opponent- even one of average strength- could knock her off her feet.

"He sold us out. Soldiers had tied Daena to a post and beated her violently for any information on my whereabouts. Even when they burned her alive, she gave up nothing," Marylean began, voice quivering as she spoke. She looked down, glancing at the sun that hung around her neck, before she continued. "But, for a shiny new dagger, that rat had sang. He would've no doubt given me up for the right price so I took care of it, avenged Daena in the process." Her voice didn't waver once when she concluded her tale. How could she have done that, killed a man she knew all her life and not bat an eyelash while recounting the events?

He must have probably said some of his thoughts out loud because Marylean continued. "I may not have any skill with a sword or know how to fight, but I do know herbs."

Ah, so she had poisoned him, that made sense. Abruptly Robb stood up. She could've easily killed a guard, slipped something in his water, yet she didn't. Was she also playing a game, while he was too blind to see it? Was her smile false and had his father fell victim to it as well? "I could prove to be fatal" she had said earlier in the night. Robb fisted his hands at his side while he clenched his jaw. If he were not a Stark, she would've been given to the Lannisters a long time ago. As he searched her face, Robb noted her blazing eyes. There was no futher doubt in his mind that she could obliterate everything in her path with that fire.

Trembling with rage, he bade Greywind to wake up before he walked up to her and wrapped his hand around her slender neck. Her hands immediately went for his wrist while her eyes widened for the second time that night. "From now on Greywind will be your gaurd. If he so much as looks sick, you will feel my wrath Princess. " Robb replied squeezing her neck for emphasis. With that he stormed out of the tent on his way to a Maester while he unwrapped the makeshift bandage.

Robb only hoped that he had not caught aflame.

Cersei

Rich golden strands as smooth as silk ran through her delicate fingers that were decorated by fine rings, a stark contrast to the forest green gown that she wore.

Her attire spoke of wealth and the way she carried herself -with a stiff upper lip- belied the lavish lifestyle she had been born into. All her life she had never wanted for anything, except for once. Materialistic things were easy to come by, and with a father as cunning and prestigious as hers, an image had been ingrained from a young age. She had wealth, power, protection and not to mention beauty. It was said by many that she had a face that could launch a thousand ships and her father had to fight off suitors from far and wide. But once she too was a foolish girl and had sought the love of a man, had given herself body and soul only to have him cry out a corpse's name whilst still inside her.

Luckily the man that had made a fool of her was dead. Her only regret was not bringing on the death sooner.

It didn't matter anyway- then or now. When love was needed she always had one who had given his heart and affections unconditionally, equally as beautiful as her. Jaime Lannister, the father of her precious golden haired children. If she closed her eyes she could clearly recall all their clandestine meetings, which usually had her stomach clenching. Unconsciously she shifted her legs from where she sat in front of her vanity as heat pooled low within her belly.

The release she needed would have to wait as she recalled that her paramour wasn't here anymore. Nor in Tywin's camp. He had been cruelly taken captive by the Stark heir, the Young Wolf as he was fast becoming known. A young thorn in her side is what he was, sending those terms to her. The audacity of that boy! If it weren't for the precious cargo he carried within his camp she would've released wild fire upon him, burnt the whole damn Riverlands to the ground to rid them of this problem.

Speaking of problems, Cercei spied the young girl that stood before her as she turned. With midnight hair and sunkissed skin, the Dornish girl certainly had something about her. Exotic beauty, but hardly anything to write songs about. And they had for her, the queen sneered with glee, many a song had been written about her beauty.

"You called for me, my Queen," the girl began demurely although her voice was hard. A fighter this one, just like me Cersei thought. Here is a girl that knows what it takes to reach the top and had no preamble about doing questionable things to get there. Why she had even sold her mother out to get to secure a place in the castle.

"Indeed I did. My father sent word that you must convince the Prince of Dorne that Marylean's allegiance to them has failed and while you are at it, put in a word of the benefits of a Lannister alliance." Cersei began as she searched the girl for any sign of hesitation to do the job. "it is imperative that Dorne does not have that little Targaryen snake to legitimize a claim to the Iron Throne." Cersei finished.

"Yes my Queen, and may I be so bold as to ask that my position in court be of higher rank should I succeed?"

Cersei smirked as the girl asked. Ambition is what drove her to betray her mother, Daena Sand, and ambition is what will ultimately be her end as well. When she has served her immediate purpose, it would definitely be easy to either kill or grant her a higher position in court, depending on her usefulness in the future.

"If you succeed, Rhayna, you will never want for anything again. And I could even arrange for you to marry a Lannister," Cersei laughed on the inside. She could have Tyrion of course and maybe, just maybe, the girl will kill her dwarf of a brother. One can only hope.

"Success is guaranteed, your Highness. Consider Marylean Targaryen to not be a problem any longer."

There you have it folks, hope the length made up for the long wait. Just wanted to thank everyone that has stuck through me, my lovely Beta: MyWeirdWorld, and Mopargirl1 as well as Roheline and darkwolf79, your constant support really helps a lot! That being said, thank you to all my lovely readers, old and new, you guys are the epitome of awesome. Please leave a review, it really helps to get one going I would so love to hear your opinions, good, bad, happy or sad!

Thanks again

Eserechia