THEON
One hand on his sword's grip, Theon used his other to button up his black velvet doublet again as he walked through the streets of Wintertown, his boots crunching in the half-frozen morning snow. The town was bustling, but not in the manner to be expected of a keep's settlement as the banners arrived.
Word had gotten out; the wildlings were coming. Knights quartered in the houses were leaving in their armour. Winter shutters were being closed and bolted. Carts of food moved in behind the walls of Winterfell itself without any orders to do so. The young women of the town were being dispatched to relatives and acquaintances elsewhere for safekeeping.
Theon had learned of the last part at the most inconvenient time.
At the Smoking Log, Kyra had just shrugged out of her tunic. The promise of a fine start to the day with his favourite wench had beckoned, until the door opened with a bang and the innkeeper stormed inside Kyra's room. Shoving Theon out the door with his breeches, belt, scabbard and sword, the man had ignored any admonitions in favour of shouting at Kyra to dress warmly for a journey and slamming the door shut again.
So Theon had found himself in the corridor, with no breeches on, fuming. In a flush of rage, he almost kicked the door down to use his sword and answer the insult… but downstairs, the inn was full of Bolton and Cerwyn men. They would be unlikely to understand or wait to find out the reason behind the innkeeper being cut down.
So instead, Theon had left, fuming and full of want. As he walked, he decided to take out his needs on the wildlings. He knew Robb would be riding out to meet them. He knew there were women among them. A fight and some wild woman to tame, he thought, That's what I need. The thought of it amused and aroused him, before he bit down the stirrings; he would need to concentrate on not getting killed first.
He made his way into Winterfell via the south gate, and found the whole courtyard full of riders. Every lord in the North seemed to have donned whatever armour could be put on quickly and was mounting their horse.
Theon cursed to himself, unable to see Robb in the throng. He swiftly made his way through the clusters of lords to get to the stables themselves, bearing with the glares of hatred. They all knew who he was, of course. Very few liked him. I'll show them what I'm capable of, he promised himself, And I better make sure I'm never late to a fight again.
"Not joining us, squidling?!" called a booming voice.
A bolt of fear stopped Theon in his tracks. There could only be one owner of that voice. He turned to find Greatjon Umber approaching from the side, the largest sword ever forged by man on his back.
"Going to the stables to find my horse, Lord Umber," Theon replied, as loudly as he could, "Worry not, this sword will soon shed wildling blood."
The Greatjon looked down at him with a sneer. "Aye, I'm sure they'll be right afraid of you, in your fine doublet. Even their antler-tipped arrows will go clean through that armour, my lord Greyjoy." A collection of nearby lordlings laughed.
Theon bristled. "Then I'll be sure to stand behind you then, Lord Umber, until we're close enough to kiss the wildlings with our blades," he said, "You'll make a fine pincushion."
The Greatjon gave a laugh, slapping the front of his coat-of-plates. "Wildling arrows will bounce off my armour like it was the side of a great hillside, squidling. And I'm told behind me is an unpleasant place to be, at times."
More laughter. Theon gave a false smile, and bowed slightly to take his leave before striding away, simmering anger in his stomach. There was nothing he could do now but get to his horse.
Theon found Robb in the stables mounting his own horse, already equipped with breastplate, a white cloak and helm. His shield with the wolf of Stark on it hung from his saddle, and his longsword from his belt. Yet the Stark in Wintefell carried no supplies with him, nor were there any attendants mounting up to join the pursuit.
Maester Luwin stood nearby, allowing the horseboy that had brought the mount to leave by the furthest route, for Greywind stood in the other direction, watching proceedings. The direwolf met Theon's eyes, and gave a big yawn, showing all its fangs. I hope that means it just woke up, not a warning. Greywind was hard to read, even among the direwolves, except when it was displeased.
"Robb!" Theon called, coming from the same direction the boy was leaving, "Are we riding against the wildlings?"
"Riding to meet them," Robb confirmed, "Whether there will be a battle, I know not. I hope not. Jon's letter from Lakehold said they have not raided, and the keeps at Oxbow and Flaxfield reported some light looting but no harm to the smallfolk, not even when they couldn't flee."
Theon sniffed. "Be more simple to kill them," he said, "Send a message to the savages in the Gift."
"Lord Stark rots in the black cells of King's Landing," Luwin intoned gravely, "Lord Robb's sisters are captives too. And Mance Rayder has a hundred thousand warriors. It is wise to be cautious about getting into wars in two places at once, when you must save your liege lord and kin."
Who asked you, old man? Theon thought, though he guarded his tongue against saying any such thing.
"I'll not kill envoys coming under protection of the gods, Theon," Robb said, "I shall hear them out, get counsel from my father's lords, then decide."
Luwin nodded, to Theon's annoyance. Of course you approve, you're likely the man who advised such action. The maester made Robb weak, in Theon's opinion. The sooner they left Winterfell, the better. All the quicker to let the wolf out of his skin, and join the kraken in eating the lions alive.
Theon relented. "I'll get my armour and bow," he said, "Just in case this is a wildling plot to kill you."
"No time," Robb said, wheeling his horse as Greywind padded over nearby, "The wildling host will be here by sunset."
What? "Impossible," Theon said, "Those savages couldn't possibly have went so far from Oxbow since we had word of their landing."
"It seems these foreigners have taught the wildlings some discipline," Luwin said, "Ravens have brought news of well laid out camps, among other things."
Theon smirked. He knew well what other things meant. "More talk of unicorns? I wonder what the wildlings have dressed their horses with to make Mors Umber and the smallfolk believe such things." All the better than the Greatjon comes from such foolish stock. If only he came from smaller.
Robb gave a small frown. "Get on your horse." It was a command.
Theon judged disobedience as a doomed notion, and quickly gave a bow of the head. His horse was readied in a minute, and together, Robb and he rode out to join the now-mounted host.
"My lords!" Robb called, "With me!"
A great roar of approval erupted from every corner of the courtyard. Theon felt a lump form in his throat at the sound. Shall my lords hail me with such volume when I return to Pyke?
He did not have time to think about it. Robb spurred his horse forward and out the south gate, with Greywind close behind, forcing Theon and the lords to follow.
A thousand riders were at Robb's back for nearly three hours, rushing down the twin roads towards Oxbox, passing by crops being harvested out of the morning frost and woods being scoured. Less than two weeks before the northern host assembled at Winterfell would march south, and even now, the smallfolk laboured to make more rations and more arrows.
Greywind led the way, better than any scout at detecting danger, the wolf somehow knew where to go at every fork and crossroads too. The beast also set the pace, which was ferocious. Robb had to call the stops. Theon and his arse were deeply grateful for the break each time that happened, as were the lords. Not all of them were young men, and the grumbling could almost be heard over the hooves thumping.
Between two halts in the march, something else unusual appeared. In the sky above, a white eagle began to follow the column of riders. And then a snowy owl. And then a seagull. Soon, near a dozen birds were criss-crossing the road from above. The next time he got the chance, Theon pointed this out to Robb as soon as Rickard Karstark stopped speaking. It was more as a piece of passing strange than out of any concern. Robb heard the enquiry with eyes aimed up at the circling birds.
"Aye, Lord Commander Mormont mentioned wargs. I did not believe that of all things, until now."
Theon let out a laugh, before realising Robb was not joking. "Skinchangers? How could that be? If the wildlings had such abilities, surely they would far more difficult to defeat."
Robb nodded. "The accounts of my forebearers tell tales of having to fight bears, wolves, even great cats that marched alongside the wildlings. But also that their wargs are spread out through the tribes, most only have one or two."
Theon glanced upwards. "That is not one or two. And they're only the birds." The thought of having to fight off a bear with a man controlling it like a puppet did not appeal to him. All the more so when he remembered he had only a sword and no armour.
Robb agreed. "Aye. Either Mance is more cunning than any King Beyond the Wall before him, or yet more tricks have been taught to the wildlings by the foreigners. The same way we would not spread out our cavalry, they have learned not to spread out their skinchangers."
"Your ancestors beat them back before," Theon said, "You can beat them again."
Robb remained quiet, until the time to continue the march forced Theon to remount and take his place behind the lords again. It wasn't long before the first sign that the wildlings were close came loping down the road in front.
It started with Greywind living up to its name. It burst forward with a new speed, quickly going out of sight over a hill. Fearing for his wolf, Robb called out for the column to hurry too, and the horses quickly carried the whole host to the top of the hill.
The ride stopped when they found Greywind standing some distance down the road, jumping and dancing between two fields full of ripe rye, and it was not alone. A second direwolf was doing the same thing, both creatures' tails wagging wildly. A white-furred beast.
Ghost, Theon's mind whispered, Jon is close. Which means the wildlings are close. He searched this way and that, looking for the foe. Many of the other lords did too. All he could detect was a strange scent on the air, like rotting grass after rain. He almost jumped in the saddle when the bastard of Winterfell strolled out from the field to the left of the road, pulling along his horse by the reins.
Theon immediately saw the large sword at his hip with the head of his white wolf on the pommel, a pang of jealousy running up his throat. A fine weapon, too fine for Jon.
"Robb!" Jon called out, as he moved closer.
Greywind ran to him, Ghost close at its heels, jumping up to nuzzle Jon at the neck and almost knocking him over. To Theon's surprise, Robb did not ride out to immediately greet his baseborn brother, however much he smiled from the head of the column. Instead, Stark called to Snow.
"Jon! It's good to see you again! You've got some explaining to do, I think."
That made Theon to understand. Jon had brought wildlings south. Even though he had sent messages to Robb secretly, informing him of this or that development, the lords were not like to look kindly on any man of the Night's Watch. And rightly so, they failed their duty like no others before them. Robb should claim the entire Gift for the Starks.
Jon did not answer at once, but got back on his horse and rode up to join the column, falling in beside Theon. The man gave a nod of greeting to Theon, which he returned, as much out of habit as anything else.
"Much has happened since we parted," Jon finally agreed, "The Canadians sent me ahead once they spotted you, to find out if you intended to fight. A thousand riders is hard to miss. Even now, they watch through their wildling wargs." Jon motioned to the sky, where the cavalcade of birds now circled at different heights.
Robb glanced at his lords behind him, before asking the question Theon most wanted an answer for. "Where are they, Jon?"
"Close. The unicorn riders are laying down behind the field I came through. The rest are ahead a mile." Jon gestured to both places. He had spoken too loudly.
The heads of Greatjon Umber, Rickard Karstark and Roose Bolton all swivelled to the left. They saw no unicorns, but a word to their attendants later, and riders were moving back down the column, shouting to turn to face the threat.
"My lords?" Robb asked, unsure whether he should stop his bannermen but hiding it well.
"Better to be prepared, my lord," Roose Bolton responded, barely making himself heard over the drawing of blades and complained breathing of horses. The column had turned to become a line of battle quickly, the road was wide enough to allow four horsemen abreast of it, which now became four ranks of knights.
"Best not," Jon cut in, "They'll take actions to be prepared themselves."
As if Jon had ordered it, at the far end of the rye field, the heads and shoulders of mounted men appeared, as did the tips of the longest lances that Theon had ever seen. There were only a hundred or so of them, but the smell he had caught on the air before intensified and the rye was tall enough that they shouldn't have been able to see anything but the tops of helms. Unicorns, Theon realised, They really are riding unicorns. He imagined very tall men on very tall, horned horses.
"Gods," the Greatjon growled, "Look at those." The man's incredible height likely allowed him to see even more. And his face did not show any great deal of confidence about the sight in question.
"My lords, under no circumstances are we to attempt battle first," Robb stated with a finality Theon hadn't heard him muster before, "We may have the advantage in numbers but we cannot charge through the crops."
"The horses wouldn't be able to see," Theon agreed.
"We must attack, my lord," Rickard Karstark thundered, "This may be our best chance."
"You will do nothing, Lord Karstark," Robb commanded, "Unless I give leave."
Karstark let out a shout and flourished his sword, but did not order a charge or put his horn to his lips. Theon smirked to himself. Amusement that died when he noticed a house moving through the rye field to the right. By the Drowned, old and new gods, what is that?
Robb continued, not noticing. "Jon, ride back to the foreigners and tell them I want to meet. I will not permit their approach to…"
"Robb!" Theon declared, finally gathering his wits, "Look!" He pointed at the strange sight, causing all the lords to turn in the saddle to watch. Two men soon appeared on the roof of the moving house, which soon turned out to be two such houses moving one behind the other. The men had round helmets covered in a green fabric, and strange looking bows.
The foreigners.
Even Jon looked shocked. He didn't know they were there, Theon thought. "What now?"
"We talk to them," Robb stated, "Lord Bolton, ride back and put the rear of the column into the field behind us. Assurance against any further trap."
"Yes, my lord," replied the Dreadfort's lord quietly, before spurring his horse away back northwest again to do as he was commanded.
The moving houses moved across the field, a strange rumbling on the air getting louder as it got closer. About halfway across, they changed their path, moving so that they would cross the road ahead of the direction the column had been riding.
When the thing finally made its appearance, glowing eyes over a caged face shone light forwards, stalks of rye caught in the bars of the cage. The whole thing appeared to be made of metal. A large glass window revealed a space inside the front 'house', the person driving inside it plain to see. It seemed to travel on its own road, made of some kind of layered black leather that was unrolled before it and then gathered up again behind after it passed.
Theon, Robb and the lords were silent and unmoving as the dead, though their horses shifted uneasily beneath them. Only Jon was truly calm and unconcerned, Theon noted, as the foreigners came close enough to see properly. They all wore the round helmets, along with tunics and breastplates of the same colour. They had strange ropes and boxes hanging from pouches and even inside their helms, the purpose of which Theon could not determine.
At last, the strange machine came to a halt thirty yards away from Robb and Jon, a burning smell wafting from it. Its rumbling sound ceased, and one of the men atop it ducked down from the roof and exited out of a door in the side.
In the mean time, Jon dismounted too, and walked back to meet the newcomer. Ghost padded along too. They exchanged few words, and the man stood waiting, looking expectantly at Robb.
"Lord Umber, Theon, with me," Robb commanded, "We'll go on foot."
"My lord, I object, if you are lost…" Lord Karstark began, before being silenced by a look from Robb. Greywind raised its hackles.
"Lord Karstark, you are in command," Robb added, to soothe any resentment, "If I am attacked, you are charged with bringing the wrath of the North in response."
The Karstark appeared pleased at that. "By your command, my lord."
He's learning, Theon thought, These lords open their mouths too quickly. Robb is worth twice of any dozen of them.
Theon got off his saddle, his arse as equally as pleased as Lord Karstark, and fell in beside Robb. Lord Umber soon loomed too. "Why is the squid coming?" the man asked.
"Because I want him to," Robb replied, before Theon could respond himself, "No time to lose." He walked directly towards the foreign leader. Lord Umber and Theon competed to be the first to catch up, and to Theon's annoyance, he lost that contest.
The foreigner was tall, a little over six feet in height. Piercing blue eyes peered out from under the green helm, his face was clean shaven, and unknown markings covered the lapels and shoulders of the man's tunic. A strange black stick poked out of the helm to hold a small metal box beside the man's mouth. Though Theon could not see much underneath the armour, he was certain the man was strong from the collection of things he was carrying. The bow spotted before was just as strange, it had a trigger which implied it was some sort of crossbow or bolt-thrower but had no arms nor coiled rope for tension nor a bowstring.
The man examined Robb, Theon and the Greatjon as they approached, taking the longest with Robb until Greywind loped into view from behind. The foreigner was quick to reach for his weapon, though Theon knew not what he would do without a long blade. The foreigner's bolt thrower would surely not kill a beast like Greywind before it got its fangs into his throat.
Robb said nothing when he finally arrived close enough to speak without raising his voice, and neither Theon nor the Greatjon did either. In fact, the Greatjon's gaze looked for someone else entirely. Does he know something I do not?
It was Jon that broke the silence. "Robb, this is Lord Michael Duquesne of Canada, Elector of Calgary and Lieutenant of Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry."
Robb inclined his head in greeting, and then looked to Theon. He knew what Robb wanted.
"This is Lord Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, heir to Eddard Stark, Lord Regent of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. I am Lord Theon Greyjoy, heir to Lord Balon Greyjoy of Pyke, Lord of the Iron Islands."
"And I'm Jon Umber, Lord of Last Hearth," the Greatjon boomed, not to be forgotten in the exchange of pleasantries.
Lord Duquesne smiled. "I guessed as much, Lord Umber. You look like Mors, if he was six inches taller, still had colour in his hair and had both his eyes." The man's accent was light, refined, but strange. It had a far-northern flavour that was not unfamiliar.
The Greatjon gave a guffaw, ill-humoured but acknowledging the truth of the statement.
Robb straightened up and rested a hand on the pommel of his sword. "Lord Duquesne, by what right do you come to negotiate with us. You ride through my father's lands without permission, attack my father's vassals when it suits you. The wildlings have never offered terms before, and to my knowledge they abhor such diplomacy. Some of the leal lords of the North would have me send a force to crush them."
Duquesne's smile widened.
"I am an officer of the Canadian Army. I am empowered to negotiate with all local authorities if my duties compel me to. I have attacked none of your vassals. The Free Folk did repulse Lord Brandon Norrey and his force from the Gift, yes, but the Gift is not your father's land as I understand it. The Free Folk offer terms for the reasons I outlined; the White Walkers are mustering north of the Wall. I am sure you've received word from people you trust more than I about that by now."
The foreigner looked to Lord Umber before answering.
"As for your lords' opinion, can you afford to fight a hundred thousand wildlings while also fighting the Baratheons and Lannisters? I have read the Queen's message to the Lord Commander. Can your lords really tell you to march north when your father is a captive in the south?"
Theon could not help but be impressed. Driving between the lords more worried about the wildlings and those honour-bound to Lord Stark. There had been some doubt that the foreigners really were nobles themselves. Theon had shared that doubt, but no longer.
Robb did not find the response all that impressive. "No wildling force has ever stood before the strength of the North, and I have more levies to call should I require it."
"Maybe you do, maybe they sweep aside Mors Umber's force before you can reinforce it," Duquesne responded, "But that's a matter for discussion between you and the Free Folk. As the initiating party of this negotiation, I request a formal audience in Winterfell, between you Lord Robb, the Free Folk envoy and myself. To hammer out a real treaty of peace, and for us to show you the true enemy in the far north."
Wights. Are they real? Theon half-remembered strange tales among the ironborn that reaved the Frozen Shores beyond the Wall, taking wildlings as thralls. Giants and direwolves and snowcats featured among them. But dead men walking?
Robb considered this for a moment. Theon knew many of the lords would not like the proposal, though they would not raise their swords to oppose talking. "There are grievances that we must address before I could grant that," he replied at once, "You have already spoken of the attack on Lord Norrey's host. What of Castle Black? Lord Commander Mormont tells me you seized his armoury and killed hundreds with sorcerous weapons before he could yield the castle."
Theon regarded the thing held in Lord Duquesne's hands once again. Hundreds? Such a small armament did not seem likely to be able to do such a thing.
The foreigner's smile disappeared. He did not like the question. "The Night's Watch demanded loyalty to your Iron Throne," Duquesne said, "We could not agree. We all swore to serve Her Majesty, Elizabeth the Second, by the Grace of God, Queen of Canada."
"A queen rules your land?" Theon asked, "Your lords allow such a thing?"
Duquesne sighed, and levelled a glare at Theon as if the questions were ridiculous. "Yes, a queen rules our land, though it is more complicated than how one would rule here."
Theon's jaw set. Who is this man to speak to me like a child? It was all the worse that the Greatjon could not help but make a noise of approval at the put down. As if you'd follow a woman, even if you are half-wildling yourself.
"To get back to my point," Duquesne pressed on, "Ser Alliser Thorne as acting Lord Commander also declared that if we did not agree to his terms, that meant the Night's Watch would treat us as wildlings. He declared war on us, on behalf of his brotherhood. He lost that war. The Night's Watch now exists solely at the discretion of the Canadian Forces and King Mance, to fight the Others and guard the Wall."
"And yet the Shadow Tower stands defiant, does it not?" Robb said, "We have had no word from that keep. There was a raven from Eastwatch dispatched as it was stormed, and soon after your own flew from Castle Black. Silence from the west means they perhaps do not know that the other keeps have fallen. I have no doubt Ser Denys Mallister still holds it against the wildings. If you cannot take that keep, you have no hope against Winterfell or Last Hearth."
"We don't need to take the Shadow Tower. Commander Mallister has been ordered to continue his duties by Lord Commander Mormont," Duquesne replied, "We do not need to take Last Hearth or Winterfell either, wrecking your war in the south would not require it. And I broke the Wall, I doubt Winterfell has as impressive defences as that."
Theon doubted that was the true way of how events had played out. "How did you break the Wall?" he asked, "Are you sure you did not climb it with your strange crawling carriages there?"
Duquesne smirked. "Maybe we did. That would be inconvenient for you and your castles, wouldn't it?"
"I suspect the lords and riders behind me would prefer to face you in open battle," Robb interjected, "Where such abilities would mean nothing."
"All the better to shoot you down, without stone walls," Duquesne replied, "That is not why I came here, but I will not hesitate to do so if we can't even try and agree terms. You should consider what happened at Castle Black and to the Norreys a good cause to try, rather than a reason not to. The same way I'll consider the strength of your azantyr and the experience of your lords in making war as good cause to try. None of us benefit from conflict without at least an attempt at peace, we both have more dangerous enemies to fight and none of us claim each other's territory."
Theon did not know why the foreigner used a High Valyrian word, but it was a strange sound.
"If the Night's Watch have fallen, then the New Gift is mine by right," the Greatjon declared, "The rightful fief of House Umber. And House Karstark, nearer the coast."
To Theon's surprise, Duquesne nodded his head. "We believe we can address that. I believe you already know how we can."
The Greatjon snorted, his face guarded against any other indication about how he felt. What has Robb not told me? Theon thought. He had expected the Greatjon to be foaming at the mouth to face the wildlings in battle.
Robb inclined his head, a gesture of agreement, before turning to his half brother. "Jon… how many are there in their host?"
Duquesne frowned with disapproval, but waved to Jon to answer. The bastard appeared to consider the question, as if he didn't know the answer. A mummer's farce. The baseborn lad had already supplied Robb with the information that there were a little over three hundred left, by the raven that flew from Lakehold. "A hundred or so unicorn riders. Two hundred or so mounted on horses."
Theon leaned in towards Robb to whisper. "If they took Castle Black with so few, they could take one of the keeps in Winterfell and hold it. A keep would be very bloody to take back."
Robb's lips curled back, liking not that possibility. "Lord Duquesne, I cannot allow the quartering of three hundred and more wildlings within the walls of Winterfell, nor in Wintertown or the environs of our host's camps. The possibility for mischief is too high, and not just from your side."
The foreigner scratched his chin. "You may be right," Duquesne agreed, "I'll bring a group of fifteen including myself, and allow the Free Folk envoy to select another fifteen. The rest will move closer but out of sight. You'll withdraw your mounted azantys and our delegation will ride to Winterfell in the morning."
"You will not bring that machine to Winterfell either," Robb continued, pointing at the horseless carriages, "And I insist that only two of you Canadians are a part of the delegation."
Theon heartily approved of that. The tale Mormont had told was blood-curdling, even if it was unbelievable. Robb had been lucky the Lord Commander had seen fit to get the message through. No need to leave the matter to the gods where its truth was concerned. "You should have them leave their weapons behind too."
"I agree with the squidling," the Greatjon declared, "If they want to talk peace, they have no need of weapons, whether they're blades or magicks."
"No," Duquesne stated firmly, "I'll leave the crawler behind, I'll bring only one of my own people with me, but we shall be armed in whatever manner we want. I doubt you'll disarm your lords and soldiers for my sake, and I have no intention of cooling my heels in your dungeon."
The Greatjon smiled. "You're no fool, then."
The foreigner did not return the sentiment. "Lord Greyjoy is more a fool for asking, Lord Umber." The big man's smile widened.
Who's the fool here? Theon pointed back at the machine. "Should we not see these wights you claim to have? Surely there is no point in speaking if they do not exist."
"I will show the wights only when I stand in Winterfell, where I can show them to every lord, every lady and every one of your soldiers present. But I agree, it will be necessary to do so before we begin negotiations."
"Very well, Lord Duquesne," Robb said, "We have an agreement. But know that I do not believe a treaty of peace is possible."
"Pray that it is," Jon said, "Or we might all be dead sooner rather than later."
Duquesne was pleased. "I shall see you in Winterfell tomorrow, then. We'll wait here a little while to allow you to return without worry." The foreigner waved to the carriages, and two men sitting within got out.
The first was wearing a hood of the finest red colour that Theon had ever seen, and reminded him of certain kinds of Dornishmen he had met once or twice.
The second was no man at all, but a woman. She took off her helmet, revealing jet black hair that was arrow straight, a stern but noble countenance, full lips and eyes so black they reminded Theon of the deepest parts of the ocean. Once a merchant vessel from the Summer Isles brought men of YiTi to Pyke, just before his father's rebellion. This woman was clearly of their blood, and clearly a warrior.
His ardour from the morning, forgotten in the hard riding through the farmlands, returned with a vengeance. He did not understand why, but he did not care.
Perhaps we should be amiable after all, he thought to himself.