Guess who plotted out the entire rest of the storryyyyy! I'm still extremely busy, though, so updates will still be only sporadic.
The logistics necessary for this chapter are a lot of what caused the original hiatus. I tried my best, but throwing some grace my way is still appreciated. Hope you enjoy. ;)
The little skiff bobbed in the dark waters outside Casterly Rock, with no lantern dared lit to guide its way. Theon crouched low in the prow, scanning for guards and movement. Thankfully, the little ocean cave was only a few feet from where they'd managed to hide the skiffs earlier in the day, while the Sea Bitch was at anchor in the port, proper, selling fish. They'd stolen the fish from the raid on their assigned fishing village. Theon had to repress a smirk; his father would never have guessed how helpful raiding a fishing village could be.
He whistled low, over the waters, and the soft splash of oars followed. Three skiffs, each with ten ironborn waiting inside. It'd better be enough.
The grate to the sewer loomed ahead in the cave, draining into the ocean. Like Sansa had said, it certainly was big enough to sail a ship up next to it. His skiff pulled up. Theon ran his hand over the grate, knowing whatever latch it had must be low enough for a dwarf to open. There. With a tug, the grate pulled away. The inside of the tunnel even had the rough hint of steps carved to one side. Thanks, Tyrion, Theon thought wryly, fairly certain the ex-Hand of the King would not approve of the tunnel's current usage.
Behind Theon, Dagmer chuckled. "I'll be damned. More than a pretty fool after all, Greyjoy."
Theon grinned, not caring that the other man couldn't see it. "And still just as pretty."
The ironborn filed silently into the tunnel, sinking the three skiffs behind them. No one would know they'd been here – and there was no longer any going back. Theon led the way deeper inside, his two miners at his side.
"Gotta go more than a hundred feet upwards still," one of the miners whispered. "I can hear water falling off to the left a ways."
The other miner grunted. "Bout thirty paces."
They followed the curving tunnel, the sound of water increasing until they were almost directly underneath.
"Shit," Dagmer said.
Theon couldn't agree more. It smelled as rank as anything in his life and now they had to go upwards through it.
"Think of all the Lannister gold that awaits us, men," Theon said, nearly gagging as he stuffed bits of waxed cotton into his nostrils.
"Lannister shit, too," Dagmer muttered, among grunts of agreement. But all the men stuffed cotton into their own noses and followed Theon without further protest.
And then, slowly, steadily, disgustingly, they were climbing upwards. They had no desire to exit wherever Tyrion had originally planned, in his bedroom or deep in the bowels of the castle. The lower levels of Casterly Rock were labyrinths of passageways and dead ends and circuitous routes. Easy for anyone not born in the Rock to get lost down there.
But Tyrion – clever, clever Tyrion – had built the sewers efficiently. No loops, no doubling back – just endless straight lines broadening or narrowing as they converged or spread from the center of the castle. It was brilliant. More importantly, it was easy to navigate. Easy to climb upwards, past the bedrooms, towards the gate of the castle, set high in the Rock.
Hours of brutally disgusting climbing later, Theon sat just out of sight below a privy hole, chest heaving as he breathed heavily through his mouth. He listened. It certainly sounded like the creak of armor closeby overhead. And he could hear the soft whickering of horses clopping through an open space. That meant a courtyard, beyond this privy… which meant this might be inside the guard house.
Perfect.
At his soft whistle, the ironborn bunched up behind him, braced for combat. Gelmar joined Theon at the front, his axes ready in both hands. A bit of the tension drained from Theon at the reminder that the noted warrior had his back.
With one last breath to steady himself, Theon levered himself up through the hole of the privy, dropping quickly to his feet on the stone floor. Gelmar joined a moment later. The two of them crept forward silently as the rest of the thirty ironborn crawled out behind. Thankfully, the broader room was empty. They crept onward.
Two guards waited in the courtyard, chatting against the wall. They turned, shocked – Theon slit one guard's throat as Gelmar slit the other.
The gate towers loomed at the other end of the open square. Dagmer took half the men to the far tower while Theon led Gelmar and the other half to the near. They slunk through the dark, sticking to the shadows. The stairway up the tower was narrow, to make it easy for Lannister men to defend… if they knew to do so. Theon and his ironborn slipped past unnoticed.
Ten guards waited at the top, half dicing in a corner behind the gate wench. Theon had fifteen ironborn and the element of surprise. Before half the Lannisters had drawn swords, Theon's men were on them. The clash was fierce – and quick.
Ten dead Lannisters lay on the ground, only one ironborn among them. Grabbing a torch from the wall, Theon gently waved it toward the other gate tower. There was no response. Theon waited. Two minutes later, a torch waved back.
Theon could breathe again.
He dropped his torch over the outer wall of Casterly Rock, watching as the torch from the other gate tower fell, as well.
"Now," Theon whispered to his men.
A bone-chilling battle cry rose in the night. In the distance, men hollered and cheered and roared. Others beat spears against shields. Horses whinnied and screamed. Two direwolves howled.
All the while, Theon's ironborn wenched the gate upwards, bit by bit.
The distant cacophony grew as Casterly Rock stirred awake. "To arms!" someone called from a distant corner of the castle. "The Starks! They're here! They're at our bloody walls–"
An arrow took him through the throat. He gurgled wetly as he toppled off the wall and down the cliff.
The Starks were at their walls. 10,000 Starks and Martells, led by Bolton and Umber, had waited just out of sight and now marched on Casterly Rock with as much noise as possible.
A few hundred waited closer by, with Robb and Prince Oberyn, ready to rush through the moment the gates fell.
Theon glanced over at the massive thing – only a quarter of the way down.
A horn blew inside the castle. The clatter of armored troops on the cobblestones filled the air.
Theon strode to the front of the narrow stair, Gelmar and five others at his back and sides. The rest turned the gate wench as fast as they could.
A roar echoed through the courtyard. "I'll gut whoever's up that tower!" the Mountain called out. "I'll eat your heart still beating! You'll wish your mothers had died while I was–"
Gelmar nodded at Theon, his axes at the ready and dripping with Lannister blood. "What is dead may never die."
Theon nodded back, hoping no one could see his sword shaking. "What is dead may never die!"
With a roar, the Lannister men climbed the stairs. Theon could still hear the Mountain hollering curses and death, but thankfully couldn't make out the words.
And suddenly, he could.
Theon turned, looking with horror at the other tower. The Mountain was there. Theon's sudden relief was followed by a stab of panic – praying to the Drowned God and whatever one Sansa favored – that Dagmar could hold out long enough to drop the gate.
In front of Theon stood the Kingslayer.
Before Theon had time to react, Jaime parried Gelmar's attack like parting water. His sword slipped past the ironborn's axes and into his chest. Before Gelmar's body hit the ground, Jaime turned, selecting his new target: Urzen. The reedy ironborn trembled backwards before the legendary swordsman.
The rest of the Lannister troops arrived, screaming, at their lord's back.
Theon knew he needed every last one of his men in order to hold the line. Jaime's sword flashed towards Urzen; Theon's blade knocked it aside. As the rest of the Lannister troops closed with the ironborn, Jaime turned slowly to Theon, sizing up his newest opponent.
Theon swung. Jaime knocked it neatly away.
Before, even on the battlefield and as a prisoner, the Kingslayer had been full of a biting wit. But here, now, when Theon looked in his eyes, only death and desolation looked back.
Jaime struck. Theon barely deflected. Jaime pressed forward. Theon fell back before it.
...
Oberyn's horse whickered softly in the night. Patting its neck, he murmured reassurances. His spear rested across his saddle, his reins in hand and ready to gallop.
The closest patch of cover to Casterly Rock was still far down the hillside. The gate creaked downward, halfway down and falling. Too slowly. Oberyn shifted, ready to sink his blade into the Mountain's throat.
"Let's go already," Tyene said from her horse behind him. Oberyn smiled, his daughter speaking his thoughts precisely.
But he looked to his right, studying the man who waited there. Robb sat astride his warhorse, serious, calm, and every inch a king. A direwolf stood on either side of his horse, the light grey one shifting anxiously, the dark grey as patient as his master.
Before riding here, Oberyn had thought very little of the fighters of the North, who whetted their blades only against savages and fighters not skilled enough to be payed for it in the south or east. But while the Stark forces didn't look like much, every man carried himself with the casual grace of a veteran. They didn't go bandying swords at nothing; they knew full well what it meant to draw one, to run someone through. Their king, most of all.
"Your Grace," Karstark said from Robb's right. "The gate. It's almost down–"
"Not yet," Robb replied steadily, as if his best friend weren't trapped on the other side. "We go too early, their archers pick us off like hunting ducks."
Obara sighed bitterly.
"Patience, girls," Oberyn said, smiling. Always, for them. "You could do worse than learning from this King."
Robb turned to Oberyn, and if his smile was frayed with nerves around the edges, the more to his credit.
A blue silk scarf protruded from the corner of Robb's armor. Oberyn indicated it with his chin. "Wear it proudly. A man with someone as beautiful as she to fight for is a terror on the battlefield."
Robb's smile warmed. "After meeting Ellaria, I'm sure your enemies would agree."
"They do." Oberyn's grin took on a feral edge. "Though I haven't heard many complaints. It's hard to complain when you're dead."
But Robb was no longer paying attention, his gaze firmly fixed upon the gate. "Ready, men!" he called. The two hundred at his back shifted in their saddles, loosening swords and grabbing their spears.
The gate lowered, three quarters, falling, lowering further–
"CHARGE!" Robb bellowed.
As one, the two hundred best of the Stark and Martell armies galloped toward the gate. The road disappeared beneath their thundering hoofbeats, the gate still falling, the galloping army almost upon it–
The gate was down.
The Stark vanguard crashed through it. Lannisters filled the courtyard, streaming to the gate towers, to the tops of the walls. Oberyn sliced down into them. A Lannister man fell. Oberyn swung. Another. Behind him, his daughters fought like demons, guarding his back.
Horns called out from their men, with answering horns from the bulk of the Stark troops, charging behind them. Robb fought in the thick of the battle, his wolf at his side. Lannisters cowered and fled from the Young Wolf, the King in the North.
But Oberyn cared about none of it.
"MOUNTAIN!" he yelled over the clash of metal on metal. "Show yourself, Clegane! You coward! Murderer of women and children!"
A Lannister stabbed at Oberyn's leg. The butt of Oberyn's spear knocked the blade aside. With a spin, his spear's bladed end went through the man's neck. It pulled free in a smooth arc, blood spurting as Oberyn stabbed it into another. "YOU DIE TODAY, CLEGANE!"
Another Lannister charged Oberyn; another Lannister died.
At the other side of the courtyard, the Mountain had heard. His bulk filled the doorway of the gate tower, covered in blood and frothing like a bull.
Across the battle, Oberyn met his gaze. He swung from his saddle, not slowing his stride as he cut down any in his path.
"Father!" Tyene cried. She and her sisters flung from their horses behind him. Nymeria's whip cracked as she caught a man raising a sword at her father's back. Obara's spear ran the man through.
Oberyn ignored it. He raised his spear, staring down the Mountain over its length. "You raped my sister. You murdered her. You killed her children."
The Mountain spat, grinning. "I rape a lot of people's sisters. Kill a lot of children. Can't say as I remember yours."
Oberyn's gaze never wavered, even as the battle raged on around him. "Elia Martell. I will hear you say her name before you die."
Oberyn charged. His spear spun, flashing like lightning in his hands.
The Mountain stood his ground and roared. His bloody broadsword gleamed.
Oberyn struck. The Mountain knocked it aside and swung– but Oberyn had already danced away.
Oberyn laughed, twirling his spear as he circled back around. "I'm going to enjoy killing you, Clegane."
Whoever said war couldn't be fun?
...
Theon fell back as Jaime pressed onwards. His ironborn had held the tower, the men at the wench reinforcing the ones defending the top of the stairs the moment the gate was down, but the ground was littered with ironborn dead. His men – his dead. Theon bled from the arm, the thigh, and a nick over one eye, gushing fiercely down his face. The Kingslayer bore not a single scratch. Theon was extremely glad Robb had refused when Jaime had suggested a duel after the Battle of the Whispering Wood.
The roar of battle grew from the courtyard. No more Lannisters came to reinforce, but still Jaime pressed on. An ironborn struck at him, trying to help Theon – Jaime turned his blade aside as smoothly as dancing. Theon swung, pressed onwards. Jaime blocked his blade, then the ironborn's, then Theon's again, then ran the ironborn through.
Three ironborn remained fighting beside Theon. He could only pray that the Starks were here, that his plan had worked, that they'd be rescued–
The clatter of boots pounded up the tower. Lord Karstark led the way, a dozen Starks at his back. Relief washed through Theon. They were saved, they were–
Jaime stabbed towards him. Theon blocked – but it was a feint. Jaime's blade turned, slipping past. It bit into Theon's side.
Theon fell to one knee. Karstark was behind Jaime. The Kingslayer turned, catching Karstark's blade. Before Theon had regained his feet, Karstark was dead. He lay on the ground, blood dripping from his mouth. Karstark had been dependable, reasonable. Theon had liked him.
Theon raised his sword again at Jaime. His other hand clutched his bleeding side, but his blade didn't tremble. Jaime raised an eyebrow at Theon's determination, his surprise the first expression he'd shown. Theon grinned, spitting blood to the side. But when Jaime struck towards him, it took every ounce of strength Theon had to parry the blow.
Jaime knew it. His smile turned arrogant, predatory, as he pressed again, and again, enjoying how much effort it took for Theon to hold him off.
Then, with a strong blow, Jaime knocked Theon's sword away.
An odd calm stole through Theon. So this is how I die.
Jaime smirked, his hand drawing back to strike–
A direwolf surged through the line of soldiers. It leapt at Jaime, biting into his raised swordhand. Jaime turned, shocked– Lady bit down harder and tossed her head. Jaime screamed.
Theon picked up his sword and bashed the hilt down on Jaime's head. He crumpled to the ground. Lady gave a few more shakes of her head, her teeth still buried in Jaime's hand, before finally letting go. She looked up at Theon, bloody tongue lolling as she panted.
Leaning heavily on the wall, Theon took a moment to catch his breath. "Good wolf."
Lady gave a derisive snort and leapt back into the fray.
Without Jaime holding the line in the tower, the rest of the Lannister men fell. Theon limped down the stairs behind the Starks and the three ironborn as they swept through. Lady stayed at his side, snarling and ripping into any Lannister who neared him. Theon couldn't help but grin, thinking that after all he'd told her not to, Sansa had still managed to lend him a token of her favor. A direwolf was better than a million fancy scarves.
In the courtyard, battle still raged. Starks poured through the gates in an unstoppable flood. Even across the courtyard, Robb stood out proud and tall among the Stark vanguard, his greatsword gleaming and Grey Wind clearing a gap around him as they fought.
A Lannister charged at Theon. Lady lunged for the man's throat, pinning him to the ground. The man's scream broke off in a gurgle. Another spotted the wolf and raised his sword – Theon's blade blocked it. He struck at the soldier, hiding how heavily he favored his left side, and made quick work of him.
"Into the castle!" Robb called across the courtyard, gesturing with his sword in the air. "Root them out to the last man! Bleed them dry!"
Arrows rained down around Robb. He bent to raise a shield – as an arrow punched through his chest.
Robb looked down at the feathered shaft in confusion. Slowly, he crumpled to one knee, then to the ground.
Theon screamed.
More arrows rained. Grey Wind jumped on top of Robb, snarling defiance. More arrows fell. The wolf yelped as an arrow tore through his face. Another plunged into his side. Grey Wind staggered.
Theon's scream turned into defiant rage. Surging anger buried any pain from his injured side. He flung himself into the soldiers, carving a path toward Robb. At his side, Lady snarled with every ounce of viciousness and charged into the enemy. Between wolf and man, Lannister after Lannister died.
And still, arrows fell.
And still, more Lannisters remained.
...
Oberyn twirled his spear, enjoying watching the Mountain stagger past him, wasting his energy. There was some commotion at the other side of the courtyard, but Oberyn didn't pay it any mind. He had more important things to handle.
"Say it!" he yelled, slicing his blade into the Mountain's leg. The huge man grunted in pain. "I will hear you say her name before you die!"
The Mountain didn't answer. With a roar, he charged at Oberyn. The Dornishman neatly stepped aside. The Mountain turned, trying again. Oberyn darted past, adding another gash to the Mountain's legs.
He lunged at Oberyn – Oberyn stepped back, bumping into one of his daughters.
Oberyn spun away. His spear slipped into the Mountain's armpit and through the gap in his armor. The Mountain crumpled to one knee, hand braced against his chest.
With a smirk, Oberyn stepped closer. "Elia Martell. I will hear you say it."
Breathing heavily, the Mountain muttered something. The clash of battle surrounding them carried it away.
"What was that?" Oberyn took another step closer.
"I'LL RIP OUT YOUR TONGUE!" The Mountain reared to his full height, kicking Oberyn backwards with a boot to his chest. Oberyn slid across the stone floor of the courtyard. Overhead, the Mountain raised his sword. With a mighty swing, he stabbed it down. Oberyn barely rolled out of the way.
The Mountain swung again. Oberyn's spear almost knocked his sword aside; it grazed his thigh. Oberyn hissed, launching to his feet.
Standing, he spun his spear, blade down and braced for another round. "I will hear you say her name, Clegane!"
Across from him, the Mountain grinned, panting, blood staining his teeth. "If you won't shut up about some dead bitch…"
Instead of stabbing toward his opponent, the Mountain raised his sword to the side. Oberyn didn't understand, his sluggish brain trying to comprehend. Then, too late, he realized.
The Mountain swung toward Tyene.
"NO!" Oberyn screamed.
Tyene turned, her back to the brute, startled by her father's cry.
The Mountain's sword crashed towards her…
Then clattered to the flagstones, the hand that had dropped it – limp.
Oberyn's spear was through the Mountain's neck.
Oberyn pulled it out with a snarl, the wet squelch as it tore free louder than the raging battle. The giant body fell to the ground with a thud.
Blood flowed from the Mountain's gaping neck, staining the flagstones Lannister-red. Oberyn stared coldly down at him. If nothing else, at least Oberyn had the satisfaction of watching the last breaths gurgle out of the Mountain, dying at a Martell's feet, a Martell's vengeance the last thing the Mountain would ever see.
Wiping his spear of the beast's blood, Oberyn took a moment to spit on his corpse.
"Tyene!" he called to his daughter. "Watch your damned back!"
"Sorry, Father!"
Finally, he paused to survey the rest of the battle. His daughters fought fiercely, his corner of the courtyard as well-defended as a fortress. Beyond them, the vanguard battled, the best of his army and the Starks doing credit to both kingdoms – though outnumbered. And as he watched, the bulk of the armies they'd left behind streamed through the castle gate. The vanguard was no longer outnumbered.
Oberyn smiled, twirling his spear. A good day to kill some Lannisters, indeed.
...
The last Lannister before Theon crumpled, Theon's sword stabbed through his chest. Ripping his sword free, Theon fell to his knees on the stone of the courtyard, his brother's body before him.
"Robb!" Theon cried out. Grabbing at a fallen shield, he held it over both their heads. Arrows sprouted out of Grey Wind and the wolf swayed on his feet. Lady growled and snapped behind Theon's back, protecting the rest as he knelt.
Blearily, Robb turned toward Theon. He blinked, not quite able to focus. "Theon?"
Theon clasped Robb's hand, pressing it to his chest. "Stay with me, Robb. Don't you dare leave us."
"The battle…" Robb slowly said. "Casterly. We…?" He sucked in a ragged breath around the arrow wound.
Theon gripped his hand more tightly. "We're winning, Robb. You did it."
Robb tried to laugh. Blood sputtered onto his lips.
Arrows thunked into the shield. Still, Theon held it, with no idea what else he could do. Robb was too injured to move. Around the courtyard, the Stark army still fought on, winning the fight – but barely.
"Help!" Theon called to them. "Your king is down!" Amidst the fray, no one heard.
A soldier snuck past Lady. Theon quickly ran him through. Grey Wind lunged at another.
"One arrow," Robb said around a sickenly wet laugh. "That's all it…"
His eyes drifted shut.
"Robb!" Theon yelled. "Don't you dare…!" More arrows pounded into the shield. It splintered. Theon looked around again, searching for help, for anyone, anything–!
"TARGET THEIR ARCHERS!" Lord Bolton sat astride his warhorse, the Stark army flooding through the castle behind him. "Your king is in danger! Men of the North! Rally to your king!"
His cry went up among the troops as they surged forward. They swarmed around Theon, driving the Lannister army away from Robb. The dozens of archers around Bolton raised their bows.
"LOOSE!" Bolton called, swinging his hand forward.
Stark arrows flew toward the castle. No more arrows rained on Theon; the Lannister archers were too busy fighting for their own lives.
Damn you, Bolton, you sadistic bastard, Theon thought as he ran another Lannister through. For always being so bloody useful.
...
Sansa could hear the screams of battle all the way from the command tent. The clash was horrendous, the shouts muffled by distance such that, strain as she might, she could make out no words.
If she closed her eyes, she was back at the Battle of the Bastards, watching the last of the North dying against the Boltons' might. Close them again, and she was back at the Battle of the Blackwater, the distant booms transformed into explosions of wildfire. Close them yet again… and it was the dark of the crypt that surrounded her, the booms and roars of a dragon drifting through the stone overhead.
"More wine?" Ellaria offered.
Sansa startled back to the present. She shook her head, her own first cup as full as the moment she'd poured it.
Ellaria shrugged, filling her own glass. Despite her casual air, Sansa could see as her hands shook.
"Please," Margaery said. With a faint smile, Ellaria filled the other girl's goblet, as well.
Margaery knocked it back in a single gulp.
With a raised eyebrow, Ellaria filled it again. She gestured to Varys – who put a hand over the top of his cup, staring through the tent wall as if it could divine the future.
A scream pierced the night. The man screamed and screamed, and– nothing.
"He must've fallen over the wall," Sansa mused. She could only hope he'd been one of the Lannister soldiers.
Margaery shuddered. Her knuckles gripped white around her goblet stem as she downed yet another glass.
Ellaria paced through the tent, past Varys's stoic position staring at the wall, to the other wall, and back again.
But Sansa's gaze remained on Margaery. She was from the Reach, yes, with wine plentiful enough to bathe in, yet never in all Sansa's years and both lifetimes knowing the girl had she ever seen Margaery more than sip at a drink.
Another boom sounded in the night. More screams followed.
Margaery refilled her cup.
Sansa walked over, dropping down on the cushions next to her. Margaery tried to smile at her – but quickly lost the ability. She hid her faltering smile behind another swig.
Sansa clasped Margaery's free hand. Margaery stared at her in surprise. "It feels like hours," Sansa said, barely managing a smile of her own. "But it'll be over before you know it. Robb knows what he's doing. It's a sound strategy."
Margaery squeezed Sansa's hand back. Slowly, she lowered her goblet. "You said you'd seen a battle, before."
Sansa nodded. Varys shifted on his seat. "Yes, my lady," Sansa continued. "Everyone always talks about how horrible it is for the men, but no one ever mentions how hard it is for everyone else; the waiting and the not knowing."
Margaery smiled, about to reply–
A battle cry roared through the night. The girls could only hope it was for their side.
–Margaery broke off in a wince, reaching for her goblet.
Sansa squeezed tighter. "He'll be alright," she whispered, hazarding a guess.
For the briefest of moments, Margaery managed a smile. Then she buried it behind another long drink. "Tell me about it. The battle you saw."
Sansa hesitated. None of them had been in this lifetime. "It wasn't… pretty."
"I don't care," Margaery snapped. "I just want to know what he's–" Her jaw clenched. She took another drink. "I just want to know."
Sansa couldn't guess what the older girl had been about to say. Instead, she gave Margaery the truth. "It's always bloodier than you think possible. With limbs severed and lying around. Men crying out for their mothers, holding the bodies of their sons. There's nothing beautiful about war. I guess that's what the songs are for."
Margaery squeezed her hand tighter. "It's obviously… dangerous." But she asked it almost like a question, as if hoping against all desperation that Sansa's answer would be 'no.'
Sansa smiled. "Less so when they're a talented swordsman."
Margaery glanced sideways at her. "As is Theon."
Sansa nodded. "And as is Robb."
For the briefest of instants, Margaery squeezed her eyes shut, letting out a relieved breath. Then her eyes shot open once again, her composure snapping back into place, her hand steady as she poured more wine.
Hoofbeats pounded against the ground, growing steadily closer. Margaery and Sansa were on their feet, still holding each other's hand.
The tent flap burst open. Tyene strode through. As she spotted her mother, she grinned. "Casterly Rock is ours!"
Ellaria hugged her daughter to herself, pressing kisses into her sweat-soaked hair.
Sansa sagged with relief. Margaery turned to her, her composure restored and her trademark knowing smile already in place. "I guess that wasn't so bad, after all."
Tyene laughed from within her mother's arms. "Not bad at all! We barely even lost any men. Oh, but Robb Stark's been wounded."
Instantly, Sansa and Margaery's grips tightened enough to break bone. Sansa heard her voice as if it came from a stranger. "Badly?"
Tyene shrugged. "I couldn't tell. Theon looked upset."
Margaery paled. Sansa strode out the tent, pulling Margaery after her. "Horses!" she called to the hostlers.
Together, the two girls raced off into the growing dawn.