Chapter 26: The Black Dragon

"You're being ridiculous!"

"Gods, not this again. I don't care if you're a prodigy - as a woman under my reign, you'll shut up and do as you're fucking told!"

Fists tightening, Daella Blackfyre wished very much to emulate the namesake of their great founder and run her muna's dark-colored Valyrian steel sword through Aenar's eye sometimes. "Can you do the entire world a favor and stop being a fucking prick for a day? An hour?!"

A snort from Aenar, tossed out on the love seat as he idly munched on a sweet roll. "You couldn't handle my prick, Daella. Be thankful I'm only asking you to take it up the cunt from some old Andal skeleton."

Eyes widening, Daella drew her dagger. "How would you like if I gelded you and used your pathetic worm as fish bait?!"

Head hung in half-shame, half-frustration, Gaemon stood up. Easygoing and ever the peacemaker. "Dae, please calm down. That's not what our brother meant…"

"No, it's exactly what I meant, Gaemon the Mediocre." Gaemon sighed with his shoulders slumped at the moniker Aenar coined for him years before when he couldn't deflower a newly acquired virgin at a Pentoshi brothel - a play on his namesake, Gaemon the Glorious. By the gods, stand up for yourself, brother. He would never do, good-natured soul he was. "Daella is my sister and as such, absolutely necessary to secure alliances in Westeros. With Princess Daenerys or Princess Rhaenys as mine, the both of you need to pick up the slack."

As if they'd go five minutes with you before pushing you on the Iron Throne as Rhaena did to Maegor the Cruel. "And who do you expect me to marry, Aenar? Hmmm?"

A shrug. "Likely the many that would gladly sing toasts to our health just to get rid of Rhaegar Targaryen. Robert Baratheon, the Tullys of Riverrun… perhaps even Viserys Targaryen, gods know he's unhappy with the drunk fool he married."

Eying Gaemon for a moment, seeing his face weary and resigned, Daella found Aenar again. Her own gaze full with dragonfire. "I will slit your throat before I let you turn me into some cow to be bred." With that she ran off.

"Don't try me!" Aenar yelled after her. "I'll send you off to the Dothraki if you do!"

Slamming the door to her chambers, Daella refused to fall on her bed and cry. She was a proud warrior of House Blackfyre - more like Daemon I than her fool of a brother. Muna told me so… Instead she raced for her chest and drew out a black cloak that covered her body. Cowl over her head, she snuck to the window and climbed out, leaping onto the roof below.

The manse her late kepa had bought for his many junkets to Lys on commercial business was a modest one. Large enough to house their family and loyal retainers but not much else. Guards roamed it, loyal ones vetted by her muna to not betray them, but Daella was undoubtedly smarter. She found her way around the place years ago, and discovered all the hidden exits and secret passageways.

When the stress of it all overwhelmed her - when her muna's exacting training regime and her brother's perfidy drove her to near screaming - escape she would into Lys itself. Protected by the nature of Valyrian blood in the island paradise, Daella was safe to actually relax and be herself.

Not that she had any companion to do so with.

Until she stumbled to the Golden Jewel, a place she knew well. It had been where Aenar took Gaemon to lose his maidenhead - where he often frequented as well when in Lys, eager to sow his manly oats - and where she had gone out of curiosity to see what all the fuss was about. As pleasing as the orgasms were from the ladies there, the young whores turned out in fact to be her only friends.

Quite pathetic, Daella knew, but she had no one else to turn to.

That was until she met Eddard Snow.

"You made it," Ned spoke, his black curls half-obscuring his forehead in a manner that made her heart skip a beat. Daella wasted no time in hugging him. "Almost gave up."

"I wouldn't miss this, you git," she chuckled, pulling back and ruffling his hair. Daella found she very much enjoyed it. "Apologies. The foot traffic was… denser than usual."

His brow rose. "I thought you weren't often in Lys."

She shrugged. "Enough to know certain things." Deliberate vagueness, such was what she was forced to use, even with this quite charming young man. The had met about a week before and… simply clicked. She went to bed thinking of him, missing him and reflecting on their last moment together. Daella then would wake up eager to see him again.

What was it about Eddard Snow that so enchanted her? The fierce wolfish looks of someone from the North? I never knew a northman could be so irresistible - can't really blame Rhaegar Targaryen in that regard. Was it the violet eyes that designated him of some Valyrian blood? Or was it his simply genuine personality? Perhaps a mix of all of them.

Who was she to deny the connection, the one who had no friends had finally found one in a surprisingly well-educated northern bastard with a bit of Lysene in him?

"So, what did you explore of Lys since we last left?" asked Daella, intrigued as to whether Ned took her advice.

He grinned. "I suggested to Larra and Alayne that we inspect the Red Temple - you were wrong, it did not seem intimidating."

A shrug. "You told me you grew up with a red priestess but I had to give the warning, they can be a little intense." And enemies of House Blackfyre ever since that one red priestess took up residence in the court of King Rhaegar.

"Not for us, and the architecture was beautiful." He smiled. "Said a prayer to the Lord of Light for you… that you'd overcome that cunt of a brother you have."

Her heart clenched, eyes glassing over. "You did that for me, Ned?"

"Why not?"

Staring into his eyes, Daella wanted to kiss him. This strange boy, a bastard no less. Lowborn, but she did not see him that way. A chance to take away what Aenar valued for his plots, but more than just that. A genuine soul…

But it passed as someone interjected. "Eddard, Larra and Alayne are looking for you."

Breaking his gaze with her - already did Daella feel jealous - Ned turned to the dark-skinned Naathi. "Aye, Missy. Let them know I'm here." The girl bowed and headed upstairs. "That's Missandei. She works here as a translator."

"'Works' meaning in the hyper-literal sense," Daella mused, having noticed her slave collar.

Ned winced. "Not the easiest thing to see… we all hate it, but Larra's the most affected of all. She's always had such a good heart, and wishes slavery could be killed off here as it was in Westeros."

"A noble goal, but one I don't think anyone can accomplish." Daella clicked her tongue. "Too entrenched."

"The Targaryens could do it perhaps."

"Still too entrenched, and I couldn't see them overextending themselves." Muna probably would wish them to - we could get new allies that way. "But enough about that. I have a much more interesting place for you to see next." Ned looked at her with rapt attention, that smile making her want to pin him to a bed. Any bed.

The second-eldest by mere moons of a large brood of siblings, Sansa knew first-hand the sheer thrill of having a child look up at you in awe. Even only ten and two - soon to be ten and three. Usually it was Arya or Tommen, sometimes Joanna, but today it was Baelgora Aeklyosh, sitting on the bed and listening with rapt attention. "So he had his Kingsguard stand against his muna and stepfather?"

Daenerys, telling the story from heart, nodded. "Aye, he did. They ordered him to annul the marriage, but he refused. They pleaded for him to relent, but he refused. Jaehaerys wouldn't give up Alysanne. She was his sister and they loved each other, the world could… go away." Sansa smirked as her best friend caught herself.

Sighing, Baelgora collapsed back. "I want that… a great keep and a dashing warrior who'll make me his Alysanne. Just like muna had with kepa."

Walking to her and sitting beside Baelgora, Sansa set her hand on the girl's shoulder. "Life isn't all dreams of dashing knights and love. You'll need to be strong yourself, but it can happen if you find the right person." Her first thoughts pictured Jon, but they soon morphed to include Dany. All three of them side by side.

A knock on the door brought Sansa from her bed, homespun cotton dress - far breezier than the wool normally worn in the colder North - brushing against the wood floor. "Ah, Missy," she greeted with a smile as the translator appeared as she opened the door. "Are those our lemon cakes?"

The slave girl nodded, her collar restricting the movement of her neck. "My Lady wished for me to deliver it myself, given how much your party values my presence." She made her way inside and set the tray down upon the table, quietly stepping back with her head bowed and arms clasped over her abdomen in a subservient pose.

Sansa met Dany's gaze, feeling her closest friend mirror her sadness at the scene. The servants at Winterfell were smallfolk and underneath the Starks in the hierarchy, but in return for their service were paid and treated warmly. Sansa loved spending time with the servants, and they in return adored and doted on her. Even when not explicitly cruel, the nature of slavery just didn't sit right with her, and she knew Dany agreed.

Smelling the fresh lemon cakes - the tart, sour fruit far more common down here than in Winterfell obviously - Sansa reached down and picked one up. Delicately savoring her first bite as Dany and Baelgora helped themselves. "Gods… the only better is that Gage makes back home." Who would know the name of the Winterfell cook down here?"

Dany, equally savoring the taste, nodded to Missandei. "Have one, Missy."

Blinking, a look of horror crossed Missandei's face as she shook her head. "No, I'm alright."

The secret Princess frowned. "Go ahead, I insist."

"I couldn't possibly impose, Lady Larra." While refusing vociferously, her voice was low and submissive, Missandei pretty much trying to melt into the floorboards. "It isn't my place."

Holding up another lemon cake, Dany held it out to Missandei. "If you're tasked with serving us, then I must request that you eat this lemon cake with us."

Sansa, understanding how intimidating the Valyrian budding beauty - oh how beautiful she was - could be, approached Missandei and placed a comforting hand on her bare shoulder. Both highborns noticing as she flinched. "Nothing will happen to you, Missy. We're just being friendly."

"Friendly?" The word rolled oddly off the slave girl's tongue, but hesitantly she relented and took the cake in hand. Nibbling on it slowly, clearly trying to hide how much she enjoyed the mix of sweet and sour flavors. "Thank you, my ladies," came her quiet reply.

Taking her seat, they ate quietly, Baelgora in her own world, Missy quiet, and Sansa exchanging awkward looks with Dany. There was much to be said about what was just witnessed, but they couldn't in front of Missy. She clearly wasn't able at the moment to handle it, too beaten down by the invisible whip held by her master… or mistress rather. "So… where is… Ned?" Sansa finally said, almost saying his true name for a moment.

Swallowing, Missy cleared her throat. "He is downstairs in the tavern with his friend, Lady Alayne. Said to tell you he was there."

"So he made a friend?" Dany laughed, to which Sansa joined in. He was always the most charming of them all - though Daenerys likely tied him on that front more often than not. "Who is he?"

"She is an occasional patron, though her brother comes more often than not," Missy replied, starting to loosen up. Not thinking her words could cause harm. "He's… not the easiest sort of person, but Daella was always courteous when she was here. The ladies working here like her, and she's always been nice to me."

Sansa didn't hear anything beyond 'She' except her name. "Daella?" came her voice, deathly calm. "So he's chatting with a woman?"

From working in a brothel, Missy held an innocent ignorance of the undercurrent of the conversation. "Oh yes, they seem quite taken with each other."

Brushing the crumbs off her own dress, Dany stood, an unreadable expression on her face but a steely glare in her eyes. "We should go see Ned, now. Bae, will you wait here while we depart?"

Baelgora nodded. "Alright."

"Missy, please keep our charge company."

"Of course, Lady Larra," Missandei stood, curtseying. As such, Dany motioned for Sansa to follow her and they left their chamber.

As soon as the door was closed did they walk in a brisk pace downstairs. "A girl." It wasn't a question on Sansa's part.

"Could be innocent," Dany remarked, though from her tone she didn't believe it for a second. "And if not, I'll kill her myself."

The moment they reached the tavern and spotted Jon did they know it was not at all innocent. Laughing together at some jape that he should've been laughing with them at, Sansa spotted… Seven Hells, she's gorgeous. The girl was about Rhaenys' age, but with a graceful Valyrian beauty fairer but far slenderer than Rhae. She was equally athletic but with smaller hips and a less pronounced bust. More willowy, as was Daenerys' mother.

And Daenerys' mother was still a woman lusted after by most men and quite many women in the Seven Kingdoms and beyond. Seeing her giggle and talk and… dare she say flirt with Jon, Sansa felt her ire roar like the fires of Syrax and Valyrax combined - hells, throw in Saephyra as well.

"I can't watch this farce," Dany hissed under her breath, attempting to turn away.

Only for Jon to spot them both. "Larra, Alayne! There you are!" Shit, now we have to go there. Normally they'd put on fake smiles but Sansa didn't bother. Her icy stare could freeze Dorne, while Dany's scowl could melt the Wall. Jon, in his sometimes clueless attitude, bidded them over. "Daella, this is my sister Larra and cousin Alayne."

"Pleased to meet you," 'Daella' offered. Her tone sounded gracious.

Sansa didn't by it. "Charmed."

"Likewise," replied Dany.

"Daella's the one who came up with where we could visit all this week."

Sansa's eyes widened. "Oh really? That was her suggestion?" Jon, I could wring your neck.

No, her neck.

"Indeed." Daella was glancing them over - sizing them up, rather. It made Sansa feel violated. "I was just telling Eddard here about some more places you can visit…"

"Actually we have to go," Dany insisted. "Must meet kepa for errands. It was a pleasure meeting you." Before Sansa could lie as well, Dany had her off. Pulling her outside into the street. "That little…!" She didn't even finish her statement before pacing about.

"She's clearly seducing our man," Sansa commented, fists clenching. "What are we gonna do?"

Mumbling unintelligibly for the moment, suddenly Dany stopped and looked at her. "We're gonna do nothing."

"Are you serious?!"

"We will do something, but we must… know our line of attack first." Dany clasped Sansa's hands. "Do you trust me?"

"With my life." Sansa was not lying.

"For the life of me, sister, I cannot imagine by looking at you that you've spent more than a decade in the heat of the southern sun." Dacey smirked and shook her head at her brother's comment. "It's like you've never left."

"I've not lost all of myself, Jorah," she replied, chuckling at the comment. "But I'm glad to be back, especially with my children." They walked along the portico of Bear Island keep, built with rough-hewn logs lashed together. More common than stone for buildings on the thickly forested island. "They needed to see the land of their House."

Jorah, a level of contentment and joy resting upon his expression at all times, shifted his gaze to the outer courtyard below. "They certainly have made themselves at home."

Dacey, turning so she could rest her folded arms on the banister, found herself nodding - a slow smile on her face. Below, her goodsister Obara and cousin Jorelle engaged both Artie and Lyanna in proper fighting drills. Barking out instructions but often leaning in to prod in the right direction. "I wish Arthur was here to see our children so naturally skilled."

"Aye." Jorah leaned right beside her. "Reminds me of the two of us."

"Really?" Her brow rose. "You mean when I laughed my arse off after Jorelle knocked you into the mud?"

Pursing his lips, Jorah looked straight ahead. "I slipped in the mud - it had just rained."

"Sure, sure." She giggled at his expense, to which he laughed as well. Her brother had been a dour child most of his life but a happy marriage with Obara certainly lightened his mood and made him happier. Dacey was grateful for that. "Artie! Keep weight on the front leg when you lunge. Keep the back leg free for maneuver!"

"Yes, mother!" Artie called back, only to turn his back leg in a spin, the reserve blade in his left circling wide while the formally dominant right sword now drew back in reserve. Dacey clapped at the maneuver.

"Artie's a prodigy, just as his parents," Jorah mused. "The Kingsguard would be quite lucky to have him."

Dacey shook her head, scowling. "My son will carry our name and marry. There will be a House Mormont of King's Landing."

A chuckle. "Looks like you've thought of this."

"Aye, very much so. Artie and the Crown Prince are close friends, as much as his brother Prince Aegon or his cousin Robb. Perhaps even Baelon will grant him a keep in the South. A reverse of House Manderly." The little thought made her grin.

But Jorah didn't seem as convinced. "The Faith might not take kindly to such - might think Northern keeps and homesteads in the south as interlopers, perhaps threats."

"If they can send their septons into the North, we can take homesteads down there."

"I won't argue with you, Dacey… just suggesting if you go that route to choose wisely." Dacey looked at her brother with a raised brow. He's gotten quite cautious after marriage. How much of that was him being a father and how much was having actual battle experience in the last two wars? Jorah had fought well in both. "Little Lyanna reminds me of you, only with a sword rather than a mace."

The little spitfire was quite aggressive as she sparred with her aunt Jorelle. Her practice sword was never still… trying to batter her way through the more skilled opponent. Jorelle could've beaten her back easily - aside from Dacey herself, she was the most skilled of the Mormonts, but her cousin let Lya strike. Allowing her to get more and more comfortable with such fighting styles.

There was a reason that Dacey asked her and not Alysanne to train Lya. Aly was dependable and strong, but had little patience for anything.

"Perhaps I should've had her train with a mace." Her fighting style really would've been good with it.

Jorah smirked. "Her size? She'd tip over if she ever held one." He found that quite amusing, while Dacey instead punched him on the shoulder.

It was her right as a sister to do so.

"Jorah, Dacey." Both looked over to see their aunt Maege striding to them. Only a little younger than their father Jeor - 'a whole seven namedays' she would boast to show her vigor - age was not evident with Maege. She was tough and wiry, but with much of the same wild beauty that so characterized Dacey. Many characterized her as the co-Lady of Bear Island, given that Jorah happily allowed her much responsibility. Obara got along with her well, the unofficial mother figure of those of Jeor's line to those of the keep. "Raven from Castle Black."

"From papa?" asked Dacey. Eventually she would journey there to see her father at the Wall - she'd always been Jeor's favorite.

But Dacey's brows knotted in confusion when Maege shook her head. "No, from Lord Stark."

"Let me see that," Jorah asked, taking the scroll. "Aye, that's Eddard Stark's seal." Taking the knife from his belt he broke open the seal and unfurled the scroll. Soon growing pale. "Dacey…" Dacey looked in on the words.

Lord Jorah,

Call your banners and be quick, but do not allow any rumors to spread among your troops and especially beyond Bear Island.

The wildlings were beaten back, but in the course of things Princess Rhaenys was captured. Mance Rayder will likely demand something unconscionable and we do not have the forces at the moment to secure her release by force.

Please hurry.

Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell.

It was now Dacey that paled.

"Oohh… my little fierce mouggie mouggie." Face scrunched together in an expression normally the face of nightmares, Tormund cupped the head of the injured direwolf - for once taking the beast's mind off her pain and making her yip in excitement. "Yer' gonna be strong and powerful like your uncle Tormund, no? Yes yes yes…" The wolf's tongue snaked out and started licking his bare hand, making Tormund laugh in merriment.

Watching with a queer expression on her face, Ygritte had even stopped sharpening her new knife - one pilfered off of Rhaenys Targaryen and of excellent make. "In all the years I knew you - and even one is too many in my opinion - I haven't even seen you treat your kids like that."

"My kids are like me, even the girls," he replied, hand feeding Nysar with strips of dried jerky - the wolf gobbled them up. "Tall, proud, and tough as the thickest tree trunk!"

"The world can't handle one of you, let alone three," Ygritte replied, resuming her task. "So yer' gonna be a nursemaid all day… like the giant mama was to you." She chuckled, especially as Tormund glared at her.

Tormund grumbled a bit. "Yer' papa should've used the switch on ya' more." He didn't mean it - Ygritte knew he didn't. "Just been back from scoutin', so aside from another clan meetin' with Mance aye, I'm taking care of this sweet thing." He cooed again as Nysar yawned and rested her head in his lap. "Meanwhile, yer' gonna be nursemaid to this one's mama."

"Aye, I know." Ygritte smiled idly, snickering at the arrogance and stubbornness of Rhaenys Targaryen. "I know."

Across, Tormund chuckled himself. "Ya' know, if ye' wanna fuck her you can. Mance won't be bothered, nor I as yer' dear father figure." He blew a kiss to her, making the same exaggerated face as he did to Nysar.

Contrary to what would undoubtedly be the case among the southern maidens, Ygritte was comfortable in herself. She just rolled her eyes. "Not gonna fuck her. I mean… she's fuckin' pretty and all, but she'd sooner kill me than kiss me."

"Sounds like love. Had the same with the mothers of all my kids," he laughed.

"Fuck off." Facing his laughs, Ygritte sheathed her knife, grabbed her bow, and left the tent. Making for the cave - enclosed by stones and impossible to break out of. Perfect to house an irate southern Princess.

Irate she was. "Leave me alone, Red."

Ygritte smirked. "Red… how original." Nevertheless, Rhaenys crawled out, looking out of place in her wildling furs that… couldn't hide her luscious figure. Damn you Tormund. "So, what makes you break me from my cell?"

"Bein' a hostage doesn't mean yer' gonna be sittin' round. We all gotta pull our weight. And doin' that means helpin' me in my tasks."

"And what would that be, hunting?"

"Been off on hunts and scoutin' for weeks. Weavin' baskets today, slow and quiet and calm."

Shaking her head, Rhaenys shot the redhead a cross look. "I am a Princess of House Targaryen - I know that means little to you savages but it means I have been trained to fight by the greatest warriors from the Wall to the Arm of Dorne and beyond. If you wish me to be useful then give me a spear and allow me to join a hunting expedition and find something more nutritious than a marmot to warm our stews…" At first there was a gentle rumble through the ground that she didn't notice, but the rumble grew more and more profound that Rhaenys was forced to address it. "The fuck?"

Ygritte grinned, having started as soon as the rumble started. "Turn around and see."

"And what do you think would surprise me…" In the middle of rolling her eyes, as she turned Rhaenys froze - mouth agape at the sight before her.

A massive man - twenty feet tall, Rhaenys was sure - simply walked across the camp. For a behemoth of this size his walk was more akin to storming, feet shaking the ground with each great stride. His face was covered in a black beard, and the parts not so covered were thickset and quite beast-like in expression. If to further caption the moment, in his meaty hand was led a mammoth as a southerner would lead a donkey. A gentle but loud groan leaving the animal as it shook fallen snow off its fur. Large logs tied to its body jostled, to which the man barked. The mammoth trumpeted back but grew docile.

Still grinning, Ygritte nudged Rhaenys playfully. The prissy Princess' shock was palpable, and quite hilarious. Much about this dark beauty was hilarious, and interesting. "Fer' a girl who claims to ride a fuckin' dragon, why would a giant be any more shocking?"

"A giant?" The giant - Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun, or Wun Wun for short - released the logs tied to the mammoth and let them tumble to the ground. The mammoth grew skittish, but a pat on the head calmed it. "I've grown up among dragons… giants are just a myth… my muna told me stories of them."

"Aye, just as my mama told me tales of dragons. Yet you don't see me shocked at seeing you."

"I'm sure you'd be shocked at seeing my dragon," Rhaenys shot back, her glare quite striking, but quickly turned back to Wun Wun, who began to hammer the logs into the ground as a foundation for more tents.

Laughing, Ygritte nudged her again. "I wouldn't look too long at them, then. Dunno about dragons, but giants are smarter than they look, and quite shy." Each pound of his fist sent the log deeper into the ground. "Wun Wun is the nicest of them, but they get angry if stared at for too long… 'aven't seen a man ripped in half before, and wouldn't want you to be my first." It took a moment for her to understand the double entendre, and Ygritte gulped. Hoping her slight blush would been seen as just being cold.

It was too damned cold, even for one who grew up in these climes.

Thankfully, Rhaenys didn't notice. "Wun Wun?"

"Aye, that's his name."

"Sounds like a child's name for a pet," she snorted dismissively, even as she still stared at Wun Wun still hammering away.

"Don't let him hear you said that. They know." Whistling, Ygritte caught his attention. "Wun Wun!" She waved.

Wun Wun, looking up, bared his teeth and waved back. "Ygg… rit…" Eyes shifting to Rhaenys, he growled, taking a step towards her.

The Princess tried to take a step back, but tripped on a rock hidden in the snow and fell… yet again on her ass. Wun Wun bellowed a deep chuckle as he went back to his task, joined in by the other Free Folk watching them. Ygritte, granting her ward the courtesy of only smirking, looked down on the smarting Rhaenys. "Need a hand, Princess."

Grumbling something unintelligible, Rhaenys nevertheless accepted Ygritte's outstretched hand. "He did that on purpose."

"As I said, Wun Wun's the nice one. Other's would've actually came at you, now stop dallying and let's go." Trudging towards her tent, she heard the telltale signs of snowflakes crunching beneath boots. Rhaenys followed, resigned to her fate. "And please stop falling on your ass. First time was bad enough."

The look Rhaenys undoubtedly gave her would've decapitated Ygritte. "Next time I won't be nearly killed by some rapist."

"Need to focus on everything around you. Won't have the luxury of putting your all into one task or another… this ain't some fancy southern palace with gold and silver windows."

"You've… never been in a southern palace, have you?"

The comment made Ygritte roll her eyes. "You know nothing, Rhaenys Targaryen. Ye' think ye' know stuff, but ya' don't." She clicked her tongue. "But that makes ya' interestin'."

There was a slight silence before Rhaenys replied. "Is that why you saved me from Rast? Cause I'm interesting?"

Ygritte furrowed her brows. "I dunno what you're talkin' about. Yer' a hostage for Mance. Specially after yer' uncle Lord Stark fucked us back at the valley. He has his victory, but we have you."

In spite of the ignorance of many things Ygritte deemed she had, Rhaenys nevertheless did possess a sharp mind for people. One of the downsides to her mystique that made Ygritte relish in being her guard. "No… you don't seem that type."

"Enlighten me on what type I am." Stopping, Ygritte turned and crossed her arms, bow still slung across her back. There were plenty of spearmen, she wasn't afraid of the Targaryen. "Go on, then. I've spoken bout you plenty. Now talk bout me if you think yer' so smart."

Rhaenys bit her lips, cheeks rosy from the cold. It made for a beautiful sight. "You're like me, I believe."

"Like you?" She snorted. "I'm no priss."

A glower, but Rhaenys continued. "Stronger than she looks, but wishes everyone to know it. Takes on the toughest tasks but deep down wanting companionship to be vulnerable." Now it was her turn to smirk. "I know myself very well… yet took me a bit to read you. That's why you didn't kill me, or let me die by Rast and just escape."

Biting the inside of her cheek, Ygritte hoped no one was listening to this. "And why?"

"Same reason I didn't swing true, annoying that you were… and still are."

Pregnant pause ensuing, they simply stared at each other with naught but the bustle of the camp and the howl of the wind filling the silence. Finally though, Ygritte grunted. "Let's go. Those baskets won't weave themselves." They walked side by side now, Ygritte trying to look ahead but occasionally flickering to catch a glimpse of Rhaenys. Her gaze half inquisitive and half… appreciative.

And more than once did she catch Rhaenys with the same look. Or did Rhaenys catch her?