Fianna Bua, Lady of House Bua, never thought that she'd be riding off to war for the liege lord she hadn't even met.
But oaths are oaths, the Buas have fought alongside the Starks for centuries and she wasn't about to be hailed an oath breaker.
So w...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Yara
The blood rushing to her head was loud, and her shoulders were stiff. It was a familiar sensation, one she always felt when she walked into situations that would inevitably end in confrontation.
But Yara Greyjoy was more anxious than usual. Fifty of her best men were at her side, and she knew that if they didn't stay discrete, they wouldn't be enough.
This wasn't a repeat of Baelfort, this was no siege. She was here to rescue her brother and no more.
Her grey eyes were fixed on the looming castle ahead of her, her men's soft grunts of exertion from rowing the boats behind her. They were just as disgusted by the Bolton's letter as she had been upon first reading it. The Iron Born were by no means honourable, but to mutilate one was to mutilate them all.
When they finally docked near rocks, they slid out into the night to begin the course. The Dreadfort, like most Westerosi households, was surrounded by an expanse of tall brick walls for protection. They would need to scale it if they wanted to get inside.
Firing up a grapple until it caught onto a crook in the top of the wall, Yara and her men began to ascend the wall as silent as spiders.
The scratch of the hook against brick had caught the attention of a sentry guard, who moved over to check it out but was met almost instantly with the sharp blade held in Yara's hand.
The rest of her men began to scurry over the spaces in the top of the wall, only to be met with two Bolton guards who noticed the ruckus outside. They rushed out, and the first one was met with the same fate as his friend. The second one was to be used to Yara's advantage, as she threw his lean body against the wall and held an axe to his throat.
"Theon Greyjoy?" She demanded, pressing the blade right to his skin, but not too hard so as to mark it. When the man started to stutter in confusion, she pushed him harder against the wall. "I'm here for Theon Greyjoy, take me to the dungeons!"
"T-Theon Greyjoy's not in the dungeons," he stuttered in response, sweating profusely with nervousness.
With the slightest bit of more coercion, Yara was able to deduce a confession from the man of Theon's whereabouts. She gripped him roughly and turned him around, keeping the axe to his throat and commanded him to lead the way.
He did so dutifully, winding Yara through the darkened hallways that were only lit by the stolen torch in one of her men's hand.
They reached another hallway and awaited for the next direction. When he finally said "it's down that hallway", Yara thanked him politely. Before ever so non-politely slitting his throat.
